


These immortal souls

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has A Different Name, Getting Together, M/M, art embedded in the story, sticking to canon for the most part but Things Happen, warning for implied suicidal tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: “You should come with me," he said, the words out of his mouth before he could even think about them. That was enough to make Ezra turn to him.“Beg your pardon?”“You should come with me,” Crowley repeated. “Let’s leave. Do not linger to watch the charred remains, there’s no need to hurt yourself so. Just come with me. We can leave right away.”Ezra blinked, gray eyes moving about to take in Crowley’s expression.“…Yes," he replied, almost a whisper, and yet firm.Crowley took his hand, and Ezra followed, pliant. They disappeared into the red night, never to be seen again.Aziraphale never quite made it to live his life with the name he was given, but that does not mean that fate won't still push him toward a very specific Demon.Crowley is mostly confused by this creature's entire existence, and yet is inexplicably pulled toward him.They make it work. Sort of.





	1. The Hanged Man

**Author's Note:**

> I literally don't remember how I even got the idea for this fic, I just went on a week long binge-writing, and this is the result.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy. Good lord knows I had a blast writing this.

Chapter 1: The Hanged Man

The grass felt nice under his belly as he slithered silently, tasting the air repeatedly and with gusto. It hadn’t been long, in the grand scheme of things, since he had been up here— But it had been long enough he’d started to miss it.

The first one was almost just a quick in and out, but Crawly had tasted enough of what this brand new place had to offer to be greatly interested in the idea of tasting even more. And when the big guy ordered him to go back up and then wait for orders, he jumped at the chance. After all, he did a good job the first time, so it was no surprise that he got sent on Earth once more.

Suited him just fine.

The first order, he got but a handful of hours after he had emerged from the soft soil, through the beak of a very befuddled bird, who then proceeded to chirp indignantly and take flight once the message had be relayed.

“Find the two sons,” was all it said.

So Crawly went on the search, not that he’d need much time in the first place. There were still only four humans around. And while he knew, on a subconscious level, that at some point there would be more, it wasn’t time yet. No one exactly expected a single couple to populate the planet at large, that would take a bit longer, still.

The two sons were playing when he found them, simulating a sword fight with a couple of branches, so engrossed in their light bantering and laughing joyfully as to not realize they were getting further and further from the small herd of sheep munching away at the grass. They plunged into a tall meadow not far from Crawly, the branches clashing against one another.

“Getting tired, brother?” the slightly taller of the two asked, despite the fact that he was panting heavily himself. The other grunted as he took some more steps back, drying the sweat off of his forehead, and then attacked once more. The branches clashed again, loudly, as the two brothers laughed.

Crawly felt a low, irritated hiss coming from behind, and instinctually slithered back a bit more. A snake -an actual snake- went by, directed toward the boys.

Huh. That didn’t look promising.

“Cain! Abel!” A male voice called in the distance. Crawly didn’t turn, observing the snake that was clearly preparing itself for a strike.

Should Crawly do something about it? He didn’t even know why he was supposed to find the two young humans in the first place—

A loud rustling resounded over the two boys panting, still too engrossed in their play session. The male voice was closer, now.

“Boys, I told you not to get too far from the herd— There are dangerous animals, out here,” it said, fondly exasperated. “Do come back, you can complete your duel by the— CAIN!”

It all happened in a flash. The snake that wasn’t Crawly had rose above the tall grass to strike with venomous fangs, right near the taller of the boys, Cain, apparently. Somebody heavily slammed into Cain just as the snake struck. A choked noise of pain was followed by a loud slap, and the snake retreated with furious hisses, to go disappear back from where it came from.

“Oh, no—“ the other boy, Abel, murmured. “I’m so sorry, Ezra—“

Crawly went still.

There were four humans. Adam and Eve, the first ones, who had two children, Cain and Abel…

Four, not five.

Who was _Ezra_?

The tall grass wasn’t doing him any favours, along with his lower point of view. He could only see the two boys looking down at something that released a soft, pained hiss, guilt and worry -but not excessive worry- on their faces. Irritated, Crawly slithered silently toward the closest tree, then up to it. The humans, too distracted, did not notice.

Finally, he could see. There was definitely what looked like a fifth, unaccounted for human in front of the two boys. And he seemed to look wildly different from them, too. Whereas the boys had taken after their parents, looking very much like little carbon copies of Adam, this fifth, clearly adult human had hair like white gold and skin so pale it made Crawly wonder how he had not yet cooked alive under the burning summer sun.

This adult human sitting in the grass, Ezra, supposedly, was also clutching at his arm, where a bleeding bite was. And looking paler by the second.

“I’m sorry, Ezra,” Cain said, contrite, hands hovering in an unsure manner. “Are you—“

“Go take the herd back to your parents,” Ezra replied, voice faint. He was clearly making a monstrous effort just to speak, sweat breaking on his face. “I’ll— Be fine. Just go.”

The two boys exchanged a guilty glance, looking chastised, but obeyed. Crawly, forgetful of his orders, stayed up in the tree.

Why would the two young humans just— Leave, not a single protest pronounced? It was clear that Ezra was in great pain, and needed help, and yet the boys did not release a single peep. And it was clear that they knew this human, too— Weren’t they supposed to feel a natural inclination to help?

Ezra waited for the two to become small figurines in the distance, near the group of four-legged figurines, before releasing a groan and falling back on the grass, eyes closed. He was wearing a simple, rough tunic that looked very similar to those worn by the brothers, and still clutching at his arm, where the bite was rapidly taking on an unsettling shade of purple.

Crawly did not move as Ezra’s breath turned more laboured, little noises of pain escaping him, his complexion turning paler and paler, dark circling his eyes. Eyes that opened, at some point, just a smidge, enough to allow Crawly to notice the shade of gray-blue of the irises under the sheen of tears on top of them.

“This is rather inconvenient—“ Ezra murmured as he closed his eyes again, so very feeble, and then released one last breath before going limp. His heart stopped beating.

That must’ve been a hell of a venomous snake, to kill the human so quickly.

After a couple of minutes Crawly slid back down the trunk, approaching the now dead human. He felt so confused. Who was this person? From where did he come from?

Not that it really mattered. Whoever this Ezra was bore no real significance, for Crawly. He was dead, now, and Crawly had been tasked with finding the boys and then wait for more orders, so he slithered away, leaving the corpse behind with no second thought, much like the brothers had done a handful of minutes earlier.

—

When he reached the crude settlement the humans had built to defend themselves against the outside, he found the boys being scolded. But something felt amiss. It wasn’t the kind of scolding Crawly would’ve expected, apropos of the fact that the brothers left behind someone who clearly knew them without even attempting to help out. Just abandoned him right there, dying alone.

No, it felt more like the kind of scolding one would receive if caught stealing an extra biscuit after dessert had already been served.

“You will keep Ezra’s hut clean until he comes back, am I clear?” Eve asked, hand on her hips.

Oh. That would explain it. The boys must’ve lied about what happened.

Crawly had to admit he found it very surprising. He knew that humans had the potential to be very selfish and downright cruel, especially after Crawly himself had inspired them to commit the first sin— But this seemed a bit much, coming from what was literally only the second generation of humans. Were these creatures already so disillusioned as to abandon one of their own and promptly lie about it?

For the days that followed, Crawly observed from the shadows as the humans went on with their daily routines. The boys looked mostly disgruntled about being forbidden to go play too far from their settlement, but they didn’t seem in the slightest bothered by the lack of the other adult—

And then, Ezra came back.

Crawly felt his serpentine jaw hang limp, as the pale figure emerged through the trees. He was wearing the same clothes, if a bit stained green with grass, and there was a beetle stuck in his hair. But he seemed completely unruffled as he strolled in, smiling just slightly as the other humans collected around him.

“Sorry, Ezra!” The two boys exclaimed at the same time, remorseful. Ezra smiled at them, crow’s feet deepening, as Eve gently took the beetle off his white-blond hair.

“I had them keep your hut clean as a punishment. Sorry about that, Ezra,” she said, letting the bug fly away with a gentle blow.

“No harm no foul, dear,” Ezra replied, and Adam sighed, fondly long-suffering.

“You will spoil the boys,” he declared, and the brothers flinched just a tiny bit, scuffling the soil with their toes.

“Nonsense!” Ezra replied, giving them both a lenient head pat. “No need to fret— I’d much rather put something under my teeth, I’m starving.”

“Of course, I was almost done preparing lunch— Boar,” Adam replied with a nod toward the cheerfully crackling fire.

The four humans who were supposed to be there, and the one that wasn’t, sat around the fire to share the meal, as if nothing had happened. Crawly retreated into the shadows.

—

“Other humans?” the befuddled salmon asked as all the other salmons gave it a wide berth, surely murmuring to one another in fish-ian about how weird Jeffrey was acting that morning. “No. There are only four, for now. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing in particular, just curiousssss,” Crawly replied. “Other orderssss?”

“Just stand by, for now,” the salmon said, and then the light disappeared from its foggy eyes, and it went back to just being a dull fish.

Crawly slowly made his way back down the river. There were supposed to be only four humans, and Crawly saw with his own eyes as the fifth one died, before coming back a handful of days later, not a scratch on him.

Ezra was no human. He was no Demon nor Angel, either, Crawly would’ve found out it if he was. Downstairs would’ve told him, surely.

He simply had no idea of what Ezra _was_.

—

The question got lost in the sands of time not long after. He received orders, he complied, received another commendation for an outstanding performance, got told to just stay up there because he was clearly the right man for the job.

Ezra wept silently as the fire burned Abel’s remains, almost stoic in expression, but with two clear tear tracks on his cheeks as drops kept rolling down. Not a noise above the crackling of the fire and the sobs of the two humans that had lost two children in a single night.

For some reason, Crawly couldn’t help the dreadful feeling twisting his insides as he watched the man that was no man looking over the scene, almost unblinking, definitely unmoving.

Ezra left after that, not a word. He disappeared toward the horizon, nothing on him but the clothes on his back, to never return.

—

Crawly had all but forgotten about Ezra by the time the rain started to fall down. And then kept falling. And never stopped.

He heard that something was going to happen through the grapevines. Hearsay and gossiping that always somehow found a way to reach Crawly’s receptive ears. Noah’s family had spilled the beans fast enough when he strolled in offering a hand regarding the whole ‘animal collecting’ business.

Still, what he had been told could not prepare him for what was happening. He figured it’d be bad, yes, floods were never any fun, but this went beyond that. This was pure, targeted and wanted destruction. A massacre.

For what wasn’t the first time, by a long shot, Crawly wished he could have any way to speak with the guys above. Grab them by their perfect, stupid robes and shake them, demand answers. But he couldn’t. All he could do was _thwart_. If God wanted these people to die, Crawly would make sure to save as many as possible, and flip the bird toward the Great Plan for good measure.

That was how Ezra came back to his mind, after hundreds of years. Mostly because Ezra was literally _there_, helping people up a mountain with urgency as the storm whipped them relentlessly. Crawly saw him, identical to the man he saw die to a venomous bite and weep over the younger of the four humans, with his white-blond hair and gray-blue eyes, the lines in his face and his plump hands. His gentle voice, as he coaxed a pair of terrified, sobbing kids along.

“It will be alright,” he was saying, voice low, both hands firmly on the shoulders of the children. “I promise.”

The only difference were his clothes, updated to the current fashion. Crawly stared, frozen on the spot, as the memories came to him, and as the two children climbed up toward their parents thanks to the encouragement, their eyes met for the first time.

A shudder ran down Crawly’s spine. Ezra blinked, but seemed rather unaffected by Crawly’s serpentine gaze.

“Do you need help?” He asked, gentle, a small crease between his eyebrows. Rain was rolling abundantly down his round features, hair plastered to his head. He looked like a drowning chick, and Crawly knew he mustn’t be looking any better, with the way his long, fiery hair was sticking to his angular face.

“No—“ Crawly managed to choke, trying to get back in himself. Of course Ezra must have thought Crawly was shaken because of the whole stormy situation, because he offered a gentle hand, as the groups of people they both led up that mountain merged into one and kept climbing.

Ezra had no idea of who Crawly was, of course. He never revealed himself, back then. Ezra would have no reason to believe that Crawly was anything other than a normal, scared human.

Crawly hesitantly accepted the offer, if only to touch this creature that had no reason to be. When he did, he still perceived nothing. Ezra, in his internal radar, kept presenting as a normal human.

“It will be alright,” Ezra murmured, squeezing Crawly’s hand as he guided him up the mountain.

“…What is your name?” Crawly asked, because there was still one tiny bit of doubt, a last shard of his brain that considered this only a taunt of fate, it had to be pure coincidence—

“Ezra. And yours?”

The last doubts got squashed. Crawly let himself get lead, fully yellow eyes pointed at the back of the white-blond head, questions storming into his stomach.

“…Crawly.”

—

But the rain kept going and going, forcing them up until there was nowhere to go. The terror whipped on Crawly even harder than the rain was as the humans realized that there was simply nowhere to go, that they only delayed the inevitable. There were tears, and prayers, as the water started to rise above their ankles.

Crawly wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t discorporate. He had his wings. He wished he could use those to save the kids, at the very least, but they weren’t meant to transport anyone other than Crawly himself, those wings.

He always wondered what was the point of them, if he was the only one that could fly. He wondered now, too, furiously.

Only one other individual wasn’t crying, or praying. Ezra was sitting down, the water up to his waist, a sort of tired acceptance on his face.

The water rose, the humans drowned, and Ezra with them.

—

Crawly had hovered out of human sight for days. There was, technically, no need. No one here to see a Demon mid-air, black wings spread out, but corpses, slowly bloating into the water, under the unrelenting rain.

All but one corpse surrendering to decomposition. Ezra’s body hadn’t changed, simply floating on the water surface.

There was no reason to hide, but if it was going to happen what Crawly thought it would soon happen, he’d prefer to observe unseen. So, Crawly waited.

It took four days, and then Ezra came back to life, splashing to get his head out of the water with a big gasp. He coughed, a wretched, wet sound, and then looked around at the endless expanse of water being hit by the unending drops. At the bodies of the people he tried to save.

“…Oh,” Ezra murmured, expression falling. He sniffed, staying silent for long seconds, before weakly starting to swim toward a piece of wood that was floating not far from him. Maybe it was once a door, or the piece of a small boat that couldn’t survive the rage of God. He climbed on top of it, shivering miserably as his robes stuck to him and the rain kept going and going.

Crawly observed.

Ezra almost didn’t move for hours, if not to turn around carefully as the piece of wood lead him drifting through more wreckage floating about, more corpses. He’d sleep in short, miserable intervals, promptly awoken by thunder. He managed to grab a confused fish that swam by his makeshift raft, eat it ravenously, and then vomited it up not even an hour later.

“Curse this—“ He muttered at some point, and let himself starve to death for the days that followed.

He came back after six days, took a look at the rain that still came down with hooded eyes, glared at the sky (for a moment Crawly thought he was glaring at him, before remembering he made himself invisible) and then dove back into the water.

He didn’t come back up. His corpse floated on the surface not long after.

That was the last straw. Crawly had no idea of who or what this creature was, but he couldn’t bear the thought of letting him come back to life in this wretched flood yet again. Because he knew Ezra would purposefully drown himself, over and over, as soon as he saw that the rain was still falling.

Because starving himself to death had looked slow and painful, and drowning was much faster, and Crawly knew that Ezra would kill himself until it was all over because Crawly would have done the exact same thing, had he been in his shoes.

So he let himself drop into the water. He couldn’t fly Ezra’s body, but he could drag it somewhere else. Crawly adjusted the corpse on his back, tying it with a ripped piece of his robes, and started to swim.

Blessedly, Ezra did not come back to life in the days it took the Demon to swim back to where there was actual land. He did not come back when Crawly huffed and puffed his way on solid ground with weak knees, dripping miserably. He did not come back when Crawly deposited the body in a hollow by a cliff face, so Ezra would at least be sheltered once he came back. He left some food by his side, too, hoping the ‘man’ would wake soon enough as to not let it spoil.

And then, Crawly left, directed back to Hell.

—

“Thizzz isn’t like you.”

Crawly looked up, a mess of parchments precariously stacked around him. “Lord Beelzebub.”

Beelzebub walked in, circling around the table. “Dagon’s gonna be pizzzed.”

“I’ll put everything back, once I’m done,” Crawly replied with an eye roll. Beelzebub sniffed, as they picked up one of the parchments.

“Why are looking over thezzzze registriezz?”

“I don’t know.” Crawly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d searched for ‘Ezra’ in all lists, in every variant and with every alphabet he knew of and some he had to learn anew. But he couldn’t find anything, no information that could even slightly explain exactly who Ezra was, nor how he kept coming back to life.

He wondered if there was information he could’ve used up in Heaven. They were always anally organised, with the endless rows of file cabinets and that giant library that had no reason to be, the smarmy pricks.

Beelzebub was looking at him pointedly. Crawly started to collect the parchments in neat stacks just to have something to do.

“My Lord… Just theoretically—“ He started, when it was clear that Beelzebub wouldn’t leave until they got a satisfying answer for Crawly’s uncharacteristic actions. “—Is there the possibility of humans living— Forever?”

Beelzebub seemed to give that some thought, before answering slowly. “I highly doubt it. Uzz and the— Oppozzzition are the only immortalzz. Our King would’ve surely told me, if there were such developmentzzz— Why you azzzk?”

Crawly’s fingers stilled on the stack of parchments for a moment, and then moved on a new one.

“No reason in particular,” he replied, light “I just had the impression of— Seeing some familiar faces over and over, up there, you know?”

Beelzebub let out a hiss that sounded more like a buzz. “Reincarnation—“ They replied, nose curling. “Nazzzty business. Always takezzz some soulzz we should rightfully own, give them a zzzecond chance.”

Crawly hummed his understanding, collecting the parchments back in his arms.

“I guess that does explain it— Very well, I’ll bring these back to Dagon. Thank you, my Lord.”

Whatever this whole situation was, Crawly was on his own. He did not trust anyone in Hell enough to let them known of Ezra, and trying to get in contact with the opposition wasn’t in the question to begin with.

He knew one thing: This was no reincarnation. Reincarnation implied a cycle of the soul, being born anew. Ezra was the same as he had been centuries past. Ezra clearly knew he couldn’t die, and he must’ve known already when Crawly saw him for the first time, succumbing to venom.

Ezra wasn’t a Demon, he wasn’t an Angel, and he wasn’t a human.

He was something entirely different, and Crawly had no idea if he really wanted to find out what that something was.

—

The sky was red, people murmuring worriedly to one another. Crawly knew that wasn’t a good sign, and he wasn’t going to stay just to watch. He hadn’t discorporated once, yet, he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Except, as he rushed through the streets of Sodom, a familiar figure caught his eye.

Ezra hadn’t been in the hollow by the cliff face, when Crawly came back up. Nor had been the food he’d left behind. But there were footprints in the sand.

Crawly hadn’t searched for him. The entire concept of Ezra’s existence was— Unsettling. There was a delicate balance to the universe, Demons on one side, Angels on the other, and mortal creatures in the middle. A perfectly still lake. But Ezra was like a stone thrown in it, making a splash and causing ripples. A stone that kept resurfacing and then being thrown into the lake, over and over and over.

So Crawly didn’t search for him. He kept an eye out for the white-blond head, because he couldn’t help himself and the natural inquisitiveness that won him a pair of black wings in the first place. But he never went out of his way to search.

And then it happened, what he both coveted and feared. A familiar head of curls in the streets, pale skin, gray eyes.

He looked like he’s been living in Sodom for quite a while, if the clothing and familiarity with which he moved were anything to come by. Ezra walked by, a perturbed glare pointed at the sky.

(What was with this creature and being where he really should not be?)

Crawly grabbed his wrist on the fly. Ezra tensed, whipping around as he slid in a stance that did not fit his plump body.

It took Crawly a second to realize that the guy was just about ready to fight with tooth and nail, if necessary. But then their eyes met, and Ezra choked on a surprised gasp.

“You—“ He said, breathless, shifting on his feet to take a step forward, his free hand hovering as if he wanted nothing more than to reach over and touch Crawly.

That was the moment the first ball of fire descended from the sky.

—

They only stopped far from the city, where the explosions sounded muffled and the screams didn’t reach. Ezra collapsed on the ground, wheezing breaths running through his airways pitifully.

It hadn’t taken long for Crawly to realize that, despite his inability to die, Ezra was clearly constricted by human limitations. He ran, as Crawly forced him to do so with the tight grip on his wrist, but he soon tired, and Crawly had to count on some Demonic miracles to give him burst of energies to keep going all the way there. The aftereffect was making itself known, now, as the creature shivered on the naked ground, drenched in sweat, still panting like air wasn’t running properly inside his body.

Crawly kneeled by his side, surreptitiously landing a fleeting touch on his back. Just one last, little miracle, and Ezra was breathing properly again, new energy flowing through him. He rose on his knees slowly, looking up at Crawly with slightly parted lips, white-blond curls sticking to his forehead.

“I know you,” he murmured, weak “you— You were there when— All that rain— The lands flooded—“

Crawly blinked, admittedly surprised. He hadn’t expected Ezra to possibly remember. It had been quite a while, since then.

But there was no point in denying. Crawly nodded.

Relief seemed to wash over Ezra, so potent that even Crawly, who wasn’t supposed to feel certain ranges of emotions, as a Demon, could hear it loud and clear.

“I’m not alone—“ Ezra let out in a broken little laugh, eyes filling with tears. “I’m not the _only one_—“

Oh— He thought that Crawly was like him. So he mustn’t know of Demons nor Angels—

Ezra sobbed, sagging on himself as the overwhelming sense of relief still sang into the air. Crawly kneeled in front of him.

“How do you remember me?” he asked, slow. Ezra let out a little wet chuckle.

“Dear fellow, one does not forget eyes as striking as yours so easily,” he replied, smiling despite the tears that kept rolling down his cheeks. “I had the feeling you were different, back then, but— I never saw you again, so—“ He shook his head with a trembly sigh. “How do you remember _me_? I _am_ rather plain—“

He was, but he also wasn’t. Crawly shrugged.

“I— Observed you, back then,” he then replied, careful. “I saw you drown, and then come back. That’s not easy to forget.”

“No— I guess it isn’t.”

“Sorry if I— Did nothing. Said nothing.” Crawly added rapidly, realizing how cruel he must’ve sounded. “I just— Had no idea what to think.”

But Ezra shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

“I can hardly blame you. I— Might have done the same, in different circumstances. I’m just— I’m glad I’m not alone.” Gray eyes still full of tears scanned Crawly’s face with an intensity that was bordering on mania. “Crawly, was it?”

Crawly nodded.

“I— Crawly, what _are we_?” Ezra asked, so desperately desolated it caused a sting in Crawly’s chest.

He kept his golden eyes pointed on Ezra, as he gaped silently for long seconds, before settling on the only answer he had with a rough whisper.

“…I don’t know.”

“_Oh,_” Ezra replied in a weak gasp, his eyes finally sliding down. “I— I was hoping you would—“ New tears rolled down, clearly not of relief, this time. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything either.” He added, voice breaking.

Crawly stayed silent, as the man sobbed quietly. Behind him, the city burned.

—

The suspicion that Ezra was entirely human, except for the whole ‘cannot die’ condition, was confirmed rapidly. Once he’d calmed down, Ezra had climbed back up on his feet, swaying a little and looking completely miserable. Crawly said nothing, just took his wrist once more to guide him away from the main road, with no clear direction in mind. He just wanted to find a place to stop and possibly talk some more. But Ezra, who followed with a tired limp, seemed simply unable to move a single step more after not even five minutes. He collapsed under a tree that offered very little shelter, shivering.

“I’m sorry, I’m very tired,” he murmured, rough and apologetic. His eyes were heavy lidded, as he stiffly adjusted his back against the bark. “You— Go on, if you want to.” He added, and everything in his being, from his defeated slump, to the light in his tired eyes, to the small pleading note in his voice was screaming ‘_don’t go_!’.

Crawly listened to that subtle prayer, and stopped, offering his mantle. Ezra accepted with trembly fingers, adjusting the warm fabric on himself with a small sigh.

“Are you not tired, Crawly?” he then asked, slurred.

“Can’t say I am,” Crawly replied, voice low. Ezra blinked so slowly, swaying just a tiny bit.

“If you don’t mind… I’ll sleep, now,” he murmured, and a second later he was down like a rock, breath wheezing but regular.

Crawly decided to go grab something to eat. Ezra clearly had all the same needs as humans, to rest and feed himself. He’d probably be famished once he’d wake up, and Crawly had enough questions to ask that he wanted to be in this creature’s good graces as quickly as possible.

Some hours later the sky had darkened, red visible on the horizon where Sodom and Gomorrah were burning. It was a grim spectacle.

Ezra woke with a pitiful, liquid cough, sweat collected over his eyebrows. Distractedly, Crawly checked his damp forehead as he saw some human women do with their children.

“You’re feverish,” he commented, flat. Ezra blinked at him with an unfocused gaze.

“I wasn’t— Feeling well, in the past few days,” he said, weak.

_That run didn’t help the case,_ that he did not add, but it hung in the air, unspoken.

So, Ezra needed to sleep, eat and drink. And he clearly was subject to human illnesses, too.

“How many times have you died, Ezra?” Crawly found himself asking, before he could hold back the burning curiosity. Ezra, somehow, did not seem to find the question offensive.

“I don’t know,” he replied, rough but honest. “I lost count centuries ago. Do you remember how many times have you died, Crawly?”

Crawly couldn’t die, for the most part; at worst, get discorporated. And, so far, that hadn’t happened yet.

It seemed unfair. They might be both immortal, but Crawly was a Demon. He didn’t need any of the things Ezra needed, he couldn’t fall ill, he could do miracles, he could fly.

“None,” he finally replied, honest. He was already holding back much, not admitting to Ezra his real nature. He didn’t want to lie about this, too.

Ezra’s eyes went wide “Never?” He whispered, amazed “How did you— Well, of course, you must’ve realized that you weren’t like other people when you couldn’t grow old and die—“ He muttered to himself, before adding, louder “But— How did you survive that flood?”

“I— Got lucky,” Crawly made up rapidly, squirming just a tiny bit. “Managed to grab a semi-intact boat, picked a direction, and rowed. Found land. It was just luck, really.”

He bit down on his tongue. He was just making himself look worse. First admitting to Ezra that he watched him die and live once more and did nothing to help, and now he was implying he just left him there—

“Oh— So it was you, who left me on land,” Ezra, who apparently was in possession of unbound faith despite his cursed existence, commented with a small smile. “I always wondered— Thank you, Crawly.”

Crawly gaped, speechless. Ezra smiled again, before focusing on the apples Crawly picked from a nearby tree.

“And you brought me food again, too. I am grateful, but I must admit I’m not feeling very hungry, right now.”

That managed to snap Crawly out of his shock, and he eyed the other man critically. He looked wretchedly tired despite having slept for hours.

“You need to eat, you are sick,” Crawly replied, severe. “How do you expect to get better on an empty stomach?”

“…You might find me pathetic,” Ezra murmured, his smile taking on a sad bend “but I sometimes find it’s just— Easier to let myself succumb to the illness as fast as I can, rather than fighting it. It’s not pleasant, but it’s quicker.”

Crawly felt something go cold inside his stomach, but kept his expression firmly flat as he asked, “Aren’t you afraid the next one might actually be the last one?”

“Dear fellow, forgive me for saying this, but if that were to happen I’d say: good riddance.” The reply was so careless, almost light, that it made the cold thing in Crawly’s stomach increase tenfold. “You’re clearly so much more successful at this than I am, so you might not understand what I mean— Sorry if I sounded crass.”

“No offence taken,” Crawly croaked back, and Ezra blinked at him, gray eyes turning piercing.

“…I will attempt to fight, this time around, if it brings you comfort,” he said, slowly. The apple that Crawly had been holding out, in a subtle attempt to have the other man take it, suddenly felt like it weighed a ton.

“I’m not the owner of you, Ezra. Do as you please,” he replied, dropping the fruit and rising on his feet. Ezra’s expression turned alarmed.

“Crawly— Wait,” he called as Crawly walked away. The Demon wanted nothing more than to put some distance between them, because it suddenly all felt simply _too much_, all of _it_ pressing down from all directions. “I’m sorry— Please, don’t go!” Ezra openly plead, raspy voice devolving into wretched coughs.

Crawly didn’t turn back, feeling like the white noise pressing down on his eardrums would soon make them burst.

Only two days later, he found the courage to go back to the tree. Ezra was there, stranded on a side, unmoving. There were some apple cores near him, most of the other fruits still intact, if vaguely wrinkly. There was a patch of dried, blood dotted vomit in the grass, and the mantle was still snugged around the pale corpse.

Crawly left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NohaVale) and [Pillowfort!](https://www.pillowfort.io/NohaIjiachi)


	2. The star

Chapter 2: The Star

The walls of water looming over the slowly moving, but compact crowd looked impressive. But Crowley was barely paying attention to it.

Someone stayed behind, at the edges of the Red Sea. The figure seemed to almost glow under the heavily cast sky, hair like a halo.

Crowley approached, steps echoing, but Ezra did not turn.

“The Pharaoh’s army will be here soon,” Crowley said, voice soft, as he stepped by Ezra’s side. “They will surely kill you.”

“Does it matter?” Ezra replied, gray eyes unmoving as he looked over the parted sea.

“I guess not for you,” Crowley conceded, as a breeze caressed over them, bringing the smell of salt. “Are you angry at me?”

“I had a long time to get over myself, Crawly.”

“Crowley.”

“Excuse me?”

“I changed my name. It’s Crowley.”

Ezra blinked and finally turned. His face was as unchanged as ever, white-blond hair swaying just slightly in the wind. Gray eyes seemed to take in Crowley’s appearance, something undefinable in the depths of them.

“Crowley,” he started, softly “tell me— Have you found an answer, out there?”

Crowley smiled, mirthless. “Only more questions.”

“I’m afraid it’s rather the same, for me,” Ezra replied, turning back toward the sea. “I do wonder… If pain seems to follow you the same way as it does for me.”

Crowley blinked, slowly turning. There was a flat, deeply bitter acceptance on Ezra’s profile.

“What could you mean?”

“Whenever I go, death and destruction follow.” Ezra replied, voice lowering. “People suffer and perish around me. I do wonder why it is so. What have I done, to become such a cursed being?”

A small gasp hitched in Crowley’s throat. That was as good of an opening for him as he could possibly get.

“Don’t you remember who— You were? Before?”

Apparently, Crowley did not need to add anything more, for Ezra to understand.

“No. I have no memory of who I was— I just— Woke up, one day, the way I am now. Knowing things, unable to die,” he pursed his lips, “I found other people, just one little family, and stayed with them until it became too much. I wandered for a long time, and it felt like there was only me in the world. But then more people started to appear— And then they started to die around me like flies.”

“…I think dying is the whole point, for people who are not us,” Crowley interjected, careful, when a small silence broke in. Ezra shook his head.

“That’s not what I was referring to. Disasters and murder— Those seem to happen around me, constantly. Is it not the same for you?”

“…In a sense,” Crowley conceded, forgoing to add that ‘disaster and murder’ seemed to be consequences of his own actions, most of the time.

“And you— Do you remember?” Ezra asked in a whisper, something afraid and yet hopeful in his vaguely moist eyes. Crowley looked down at his own feet, and then back at the sea.

The Israelites looked like a lot of small, colourful pins on a cushion, now.

“I remember where I grew up,” he replied, voice low. He didn’t so much grow as he was simply put into existence, but back then they were all sort of children, really. “I remember— Those who were my family, before I got kicked out.”

“Oh—“ Ezra whispered, delicately. “I’m— Sorry.”

“Hardly your fault,” Crowley replied with a huff, snappy. He did not like to speak about the time before he Fell, even if Ezra couldn’t possibly imagine. “I don’t linger on it. I am who I am now.”

“…I guess you do have a point,” Ezra conceded. “It seems to me that you are far more suited for this life than I am. I must look so weak, to you.”

“You are not weak, you are just— Different,” Crowley replied, frowning. “I think you are very brave.”

“Is that so?” Ezra asked, smiling cooly. “How many times have you died, now, Crowley?”

“It’s not a competition, Ezra. I think that the fact you still hold onto your sanity, despite everything, shows a great deal of strength.”

_Holding on despite being an immortal who, by all means, should’ve been very much mortal._

Ezra dubiously glanced at him, a frown settling on his face. It seemed like he was about to add something, before the ground started to subtly vibrate under their feet.

“They will be here soon,” Crowley said, knowing there was no need. “We better go.”

“Go where, exactly?”

“Anywhere that’s not where there’s going to be a lot of swords, spears and other very pointy things,” Crowley snapped back, vaguely irritated. Ezra did not move, even if he turned to face him fully.

“And then what?”

“_And then_— Why does it matter? We’ll go somewhere, there’s a lot of somewhere to go in this world, Ezra!”

“So, you do want to be together, now,” Ezra replied, low and icy. Crowley stammered, eyes going wide. “I’m afraid I might have lied a bit. I think I’m not quite over myself, yet.”

“Ezra—“

“You left me,” Ezra hissed, interrupting him, “to die alone, after rejecting me so throughly that not even the most idiotic of men could possibly misinterpret, and you were gone once I came back. You stayed gone. Why, exactly, should I trust you now, _Crowley_?”

Crowley snapped his mouth shut. Serpentine pupils sliding away in something that did not stir very often inside him: Shame.

Ezra turned back toward the sea, his stance granitic. “You probably better go, now. I think I will stay just a bit longer. It’s not exactly every day that you see something like that.” He said, flat, nodding toward the parted waters.

Crowley left, looking back one last time when the noise of the horses galloping, hundreds of hooves hitting the ground, turned almost unbearable. But Ezra didn’t turn, and then the small figure disappeared, engulfed by raging, grieving soldiers.

—

When they next met, they were in Rome.

No, it was a lie. Crowley had seen him multiple times since Egypt. Fluttering about, never staying long in a single place. Always looking down, always avoiding contact with the humans around him.

Crowley had never approached. He knew he wasn’t forgiven. He knew he probably wouldn’t ever be forgiven.

Because he did exactly as Ezra said: rejected him, left him behind. When it had all turned too much, when Ezra had readily offered him companionship, had been willing to fight for Crowley with the desperation that only an utterly lonely immortal creature could possess, Crowley had put his metaphorical tail between his legs, and hightailed as far from Ezra as he could, terrified by something he could not quite put a finger on.

Ezra had every right to not impart forgiveness. And, technically, that wasn’t anything new. Being _unforgivable_ was part of Crowley.

It did not bring him any comfort.

So, he never approached. There had been times he was sure Ezra had been looking at him. A fleeting moment, piercing gray eyes meeting Crowley’s for a quarter of a second, not anywhere long enough to justify the feeling. And yet, Crowley was sure that Ezra had known. He had known, and he purposefully decided to ignore Crowley.

It should’ve been, by all means, for the better. The less Crowley meddled into Ezra’s emblematic existence, the better. He was fairly sure that neither Hell nor Heaven had any idea that the immortal creature even existed. He was fairly sure that, if they were to discover him, _everything_ would break loose.

Crowley did not look forward to that moment. He very much did not look forward to what would happen to _him_, if he meddled into Ezra’s life.

It should’ve been for the better, really. And yet, it felt anything but.

Then— Rome happened.

There was something to say about the Empire. As ruthlessly efficient as it was, as thirsty for more power as it was, no other place on Earth was quite like the heart of said Empire during those times. There was a boundless amount of energy and vitality that seemed to permeate deep into the very fibre of its existence. Like under the paved roads hundreds of feet traversed every day ran veins full of blood, pumping all the way outward. There was so much to do, to see, to smell, to eat, to listen, to _experience_, in Rome.

Crowley had visited the city in passing decades earlier for a job, hadn’t had the time to take much of it in, so he decided to stop by for a bit and see what the fuss was all about. And in barely a handful of days he felt inebriated by just how _much_ the city, and its inhabitants, were.

And, he would soon discover, he wasn’t the only one. Crowley was surprised into a shocked silence, one evening, as he walked under the sunset, inebriated by more than just the lifeblood of the city. All around him the laughter of people partaking into hedonistic pursuits filled his ears like music, and he did not notice the steps that rapidly followed from behind, almost jumping out of his skin when a soft hand slid between his arm and his waist, fingers curling gently.

“Hello, Crowley.”

Crowley whipped his head around, eyes wide. Ezra, impeccably dressed in an almost eye-hurting white toga with just an accent of red draped over his shoulder, smiled up at him. His hair style hadn’t changed, exactly as his face hadn’t, but it seemed to fit with the current fashion.

“Oh, short hair does seem to suit you, although I admittedly already miss your locks dearly,” Ezra continued, as if they had last spoke about a month prior and not centuries past, leaving on what one could very kindly define as a ‘bad note’. “What brings you here?”

Crowley made a wheezing noise, and then cleared his throat. “Nothing— In particular,” he forced himself to say, voice only trembling during that brief pause. “Just going around. Seeing the sights.”

Ezra hummed, knowing. His fingers were still curled around Crowley’s arm.

“Rome. It is quite a beautiful place to— See the sights, as you say,” he sniffed. “How long have you been here? I’d rather fancy a good meal right about now, and I know all of the best spots. You will love it.”

Crowley, who hardly needed to eat —but did so anyway whenever he felt like it—, and who was already pretty drunk —no troubles with the drinking, as long as his jugs would contain more ethanol than water— made another wheezing noise.

“Not interested?” Ezra asked, and there it was: The tiny, almost entirely hidden note of coldness. Crowley made a vague, rushed gesture with his free arm.

“Ngk— No— I mean, yes. I mean— I am interested. Very interested.”

Ezra sniffed primly, and his fingers tightened around Crowley’s arm.

“Over here, then.”

They did not speak as Ezra guided him through the spiralling alleys sprawled in between the hills of Rome. They stopped to eat at a hole in the wall that looked like a math problem. The deliciousness of the food was inversely proportional to how very untrustworthy the place would seem at first glance, and Crowley could not stop thinking about how things in shells that looked like God decided to throw some paint together and call it a day, when She created them, had absolutely no right to be as good as they were.

Ezra looked positively smug, as Crowley downed yet another oyster and leaned back in his seat with the sigh of someone who was very full and very satisfied. Inserting solid things into his insides also helped tone down how inebriated he was, and he finally took a good, long look at Ezra.

He didn’t seem to be nearly as miserable as he had been the last time Crowley caught a glimpse of him, grim and pale as the son of God cried out for forgiveness on behalf of humanity as a whole. He looked— Lively. Cheeks rosy, eyes glinting, fingers impatiently drumming on his knees. Whatever had happened to him during the last handful of decades had changed him a great deal.

“So?” Ezra asked, lips opening on a toothy, sincere smile.

“This is sinful, it’s what it is,” Crowley replied, winning a laugh. “How did you even _think_ to try to eat something in _here_?”

“There’s something to say about the advantages of not dying. Food poisoning might be unpleasant, but hey, at least I’m not too concerned about it. Trying new things, taking that plunge— Can be quite exciting.”

“…How many times have you died due to food poisoning?”

Ezra’s smile turned wolfish. “How many times have _you_ died, at this point, Crowley? Ready to bet the answer is zero. You are holding back. Try to die a bit, every now and then, it’d give you a new perspective.”

Crowley shook his head with a huffy laugh. There was something unhinged in the brazen way Ezra spoke about dying for the sake of eating bloody seafood, but his expression was firm, self-assured, and very much not manic. The opposite of it, actually.

“Maybe I’ll leave that to you and reap the fruits of your labour,” Crowley said, winning another laugh. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, I think I might have found my vocation,” Ezra replied, pouring more wine for the both of them. He waited until he was done and Crowley took the jug to his lips, before adding, “I could show you.”

Crowley tilted an eyebrow over the brim of the jug. Ezra’s smile had something almost secretive to it.

“…Sure, why not.” Crowley replied, smiling back.

—

As they approached what Crowley could only define as a full blown mansion, his eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. Ezra walked with the gait of someone fearing nothing, and suddenly, as they went through the main entrance, Crowley seemed to fully notice how very expensive Ezra’s toga and the brooch keeping it firm on him looked. A young man in much simpler clothing approached, bowing.

“Aurelio, prepare the biggest guest room for my friend, please,” Ezra said almost distractedly, taking his sandals off. “And start warming the water for the baths.”

The young man only bowed again, before disappearing. Crowley gaped.

“Do you _own_ this place?!”

Ezra turned, blinking, head tilted just vaguely on a side.

“My dear fellow, surely you must be in possession of some treasure of your own, by now,” he commented back, sounding surprised. “How does one live as long as we do, and not figure out the best way to get by?”

Crowley spluttered, somehow not feeling insulted as much as silly. “I do! It’s just— Not as ostentatious as all of— This.” He finished lamely, gesturing at the richly decorated inside of the mansion. Ezra let out an amused huff.

“I hardly think this is— ostentatious. I give a substantial wage to my servants and treat them well. I support artists by letting them express their creativity within these walls, and enjoy the beauty of it as a prize. Is that something to be ashamed of?”

“It’s not what I said,” Crowley grumbled, following as Ezra ventured deeper between the rooms. He had to admit that the frescoes adorning the walls and ceilings, that the mosaics enriching the pavements were, indeed, striking. Similar in style to the current art, but expressing themselves somewhat differently, like the artists, here, dared to look into subjects they would not elsewhere. “I just— Wasn’t expecting something like this from you?”

The questioning tone wasn’t lost on Ezra, who turned just slightly. “Really,” he said, soft. “Why is that?”

“Because, my friend—“ the word slid out of Crowley’s mouth, and he did not even realize. Ezra smiled vaguely, as Crowley kept going “—And please, do not take offence to this, but we literally spoke two times, so far, and both times you were a total downer.” He slapped a hand on his mouth, eyes widening just slightly. “Shit. That was offensive, wasn’t it? I mean, I can’t blame you for being down in the dumps, considering… Well, everything. It’s understandable, really.”

Much to his surprise, Ezra laughed. “You know, you do have a point. I spent a good chunk of the last millennia rather unhappy,” he said, voice not faltering. “I was a bit slow on the uptake, compared to you, I’d imagine. But I decided to stop being so unhappy and do _something_ of my existence. So, here we are.”

“…I’m—Glad to hear that,” Crowley murmured, utterly sincere, as he studied the simple smile pulling at Ezra’s mouth. “I truly am.”

“I know, dear,” Ezra replied, warm. “Let me show you what I have been doing.”

He pushed through heavy wooden doors in what was the largest room of the mansion, yet. It was a controlled chaos. There were endless shelves filled to the brim with stacked or rolled parchments, blocks of marble halfway through the process of being carved into something incredible rested all over the place, paintings at different degrees of completion sitting in various free spots on the floor. And then music instruments, tools to write, paint, sculpt, scattered all along the room without any apparent rhyme or reason.

One painting in particular caught Crowley’s eyes, and he carefully made his way through the flimsy amount of walkable flooring toward it. It was the Red Sea, parting, small people traversing the muddy road under the dark, steely sky.

It was exactly as Crowley remembered that day being.

“You made these.” Crowley exhaled, understanding clicking into his mind. “_All_ of these—“

It was so very obvious. The room was peppered with more paintings, statues reproducing ancient pieces, sketches of cities that had long been lost to a history of blood and fire.

Ezra’s and, by extension, Crowley’s past, all neatly pushed under his nose in a single room.

Crowley couldn’t stop spinning around on his feet, trying to take it all in. It was almost dizzying.

“As I said— I decided to make something out of my existence,” Ezra replied, gently pensive. “I had a long time to practice the arts. I have refined my technique, if I dare say so myself, although I’m afraid I lack in creativity. All of my subjects come up from memories.”

“Ezra— These are _beautiful_,” Crowley whispered, breathless.

“I’m glad you— Appreciate them,” Ezra murmured back, something charged in his voice. “You… You are the only person in the entire world that can truly understand,” he added, low. Crowley blinked, slowly turning toward him.

It was true. Ezra had, supposedly, no idea that Angels and Demons existed. For him, Crowley was truly the only one. And he was, because no other immortal creature besides the both of them had partaken quite so viscerally in the ever changing history of humanity.

“I— I don’t know what to say, there’s just— So much,” Crowley murmured, honest. Every time his eyes slid somewhere else, he could see something he thought long forgotten by everyone but himself. And then— “Wait— Is that _me_?!” he asked, choked, when he noticed what looked like a coloured study of a portrait sitting in a corner.

Ezra didn’t seem perturbed, as Crowley approached, delicately picking up the heavy parchment. There was no doubt, it was him. Wearing the dark clothing he wore the day of the crucifixion, long red curls framing his face. The yellow of his eyes seemed to almost glow from the paper, serpentine pupils pointed right at the onlooker.

“As I said, I do miss your locks already. I would’ve loved to have you pose for me, if you felt inclined to do so. I’m afraid my memory did not quite do justice to your hairstyle.”

“I _knew_ you were looking at me, that day.”

“Well, dear fellow, you tend to look quite out of the ordinary in most situations, I’m afraid.”

Crowley put down the portrait almost reverently, before turning around. Ezra hadn’t moved, standing there with his hands collected in front of him, a soft smile on his pink lips.

Working around a knot in his throat, Crowley silenced the vague urge rising from the depths of his belly, and focused on something that should have probably been said a long, long time ago.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

Ezra’s eyes crinkled in a deeper smile. “I hardly need it, my friend.”

“I still want to say it. I’m sorry for how I treated you in the past, Ezra.”

“Very well. I accept your apology,” Ezra replied, promptly. “I think the baths should be ready by now. Have you ever tried them? They are downright decadent, my dear fellow, let me tell you.”

—

It was all smooth sailing from there. Crowley graciously accepted Ezra’s offer to stay for as long as he wanted. Life in the mansion was, admittedly, debauchedly luxurious. Ezra seemed quite content to be enjoying the best the world had to offer. His beautiful mansion was always spotless, the meals, the rare times they weren’t out and about in Rome to eat in whatever restaurant Ezra had discovered, were always delicious. There was a constant stream of artists, writers, musicians, actors coming and going, to perform for them, or simply free to express their art as they preferred, under Ezra’s delighted eyes.

And yet, there was a kindness to it all. Ezra did treat his servants with affection and respect, on top of paying them a lot more than the average, and it was clear in the way the servants respected him back sincerely, rather than being forced to do so by their position, that they cared for him as well. The artists, who were compensated for the privilege of creating or performing exactly what they wanted, would look at Ezra with earnestly adoring eyes. Ezra seemed to also be active in the political happenings of the city, pushing and pulling subtly in whichever direction he deemed right, most of the time in favour of what would make life easier for those who did not possess much, instead of wealthy, powerful men like himself.

He would laugh about it, too. “I have been murdered about— Seven times,” he said one evening as it was just him and Crowley, sitting in the gardens with a generous plate of grapes between them. “Those who commissioned my death do not seem very happy about the fact that I somehow insist on not dying. It’s all very entertaining.”

They would spend most evenings like that, after a full day of activities. Just the two of them lounging in the gardens, sharing something to nibble, or to drink, or both. And just talk for hours, exchanging memories, discussing life, politics, religion, art— Every topic that came to mind, they could discuss for hours on end.

After a month, Crowley had to admit to himself he was hopelessly charmed. Ezra had a quicksilver mind to him, and a witty tongue. Whenever he spoke in the presence of others, Crowley could witness how most people seemed to be enraptured by him like moths attracted to a flame. It was understandable, seeing as Ezra always spoke with a certain intent and a studied thoughtfulness. Considering the guy had been alive since the first humans roamed the Earth, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. One couldn’t possibly live so long and not develop a way of speaking that gave meaning to every single word.

It had also been somehow fun, pretending to be human. Crowley had already tried most of what made humans inherently so, just for the sake of it, but having to plunge himself fully into the charade gave him a bizarre satisfaction. He’d grown to take quite a likening to the act of sleeping, especially, looking forward to retire in his quarters after a long day and a pleasing evening conversation with Ezra. Just sink in his almost depraved beddings, letting the softness and drowsiness envelop him as he slid into a relaxed sleep and come back to consciousness to the sound of birds chirping and the delicate light of a new dawn.

They spoke about that, too. The needs that all humans had. Ezra, one night in which they might have partaken a bit too much in the wine, confessed candidly that he died of starvation enough times, in the past, to develop a mild phobia and a need to constantly have something to eat and drink on him at all times.

“It’s a rather wretched affair, dying of starvation,” he said, something dark in his distant gaze. “I’m glad you never had to experience that.”

Crowley had drunk a bit more, at that, insides twisting at the thought of Ezra slowly wasting away over and over. It always made him feel like a cheater.

It seemed like there hadn’t been a single way of dying that Ezra hadn’t experienced at least once. Thirst, cold, falling from high places, mauled by wild animals, heat stroke, all manners of illnesses, drowning —Crowley knew that one intimately well—, biting poisonous things, getting bitten by venomous things —another one Crowley had a firsthand account of—, murder.

A lot of murder.

“It’s just the way it is,” he commented thoughtfully, after sharing the tale of a particularly gruesome episode of murder and noticing the appalled expression on Crowley’s face. “I make myself too much of a target, I’d imagine. You seem to be far more capable than me, my friend.”

Crowley grunted. “I just— Keep my head low,” he muttered back, feeling once more like a dirty cheater. “_Very_ low. We just have different… Ways of doing things, I guess.”

“Very true,” Ezra agreed, somewhat amused.

Not that the conversations were always so grim. They inevitably touched upon the topic of sex, one night, when Crowley couldn’t help himself but ask. They had a dancer coming by the mansion, earlier that day, and she flirted with Ezra so thoroughly it wasn’t long before she was opening sitting on his thigh, her light dress suspiciously sliding off her breasts as she ran her thin fingers through his hair. Ezra had seemed indifferent, if amused, by the whole ordeal, and sent her off with a substantial pay for her time and a kind recommendation to take care of herself.

“Are you not— Interested?” Crowley had asked, after they shared a bit of a laugh about the whole ordeal, simply too curious to hold back. Ezra gave a thoughtful hum.

“She was very beautiful, but she was not— Quite in my tastes,” he then replied, sincere. Crowley blinked, eyebrows knitting oh-so slightly. “There has been a time in which I— Accepted offers,” Ezra continued delicately “It was mostly out of curiosity. I wondered if I had the ability to father a child. Seems like it’s not the case— All for the better, I’d say. I’m quite certain I’d rather not put another cursed existence such a mine on this Earth— No offence, dear fellow.”

“None taken,” Crowley replied. “So, you don’t like sex?”

“That’s not what I said,” Ezra’s smile curled. “Women are truly magnificent, and it was indeed a— Fun activity. But I had never realized how very pleasing it might be until I tried with another man. Turns out I— Lean more on a specific side of the coin, if you will.”

And then he turned toward Crowley fully, running his gray eyes so pointedly up and down the entirety of Crowley’s corporation that it made him feel like he was being undressed by the sheer force of that gaze. There was something to say about how Ezra did not speak with only his words, how his entire body would animate and express concepts with a look, a smile, a gentle movement of fingers. And the proposition in that gaze was so obviously, sincerely open that it made something primal squirm in the depths of Crowley’s belly, something that growled, needy, and started to beg Crowley to _please just say yes, for the love of Satan, what are you waiting for? Just say yes, you idiot!_

“…I see,” Crowley murmured, instead, something gentle in his voice. Ezra seemed to take the hint, and not take offence to it, because he smiled and turned belly up once more, gazing at the stars.

“And you?” He asked after some seconds of a somehow not tense silence. “Have you tried?”

“Sometimes, every now and then. It can be fun,” Crowley admitted, relaxing as the primal thing in his belly howled in rage. “I don’t think I have a… Preference, personally. I quite enjoy all manners of different bodies.”

A silence followed. Crowley pointedly did not turn, but he knew that the message had been received.

_Not now_, it said, _perhaps, in the future._

“More open to possibilities. I like that,” Ezra finally replied, mirth in his voice.

_Not now_, he was saying back, _but hopefully, in the future. I will be waiting for you._


	3. Judgment

Chapter 3: Judgment

Crowley had barely sat down at the breakfast table, picking on the freshly cut cheese unconvincingly, before Ezra glanced at him over a parchment he’d been attentively reading with eyelashes fluttering against his round cheeks.

“You know, Crowley,” he started, lightly, “if you ever feel the need to spend some time on your own, I won’t be offended. My door will always remain open for you.”

Crowley blinked, willing his mouth to not hang limply open like a fish.

It wasn’t as much the need to be on his own as it was the fact he received a very specific assignment from downstairs he needed to get onto right away, and he was pondering about how to break the news of his imminent departure to his new friend. Ezra smiled briefly in front of his clearly surprised gaze.

“I do find some comfort in spending time alone, every now and then. Just being with myself. I understand.”

“I— Yeah, sure,” Crowley stammered, putting a slice of cheese in his mouth just to have something to do. “Alright,” he added, muffled.

He left that afternoon, with Ezra pushing a considerably heavy pouch full of coins in his hand, refusing Crowley’s protests. Crowley promised himself he’d miracle a lot more to give back to Ezra once he’d return. He could tell the guys downstairs that he needed it for bribery, or something.

He did not turn even once as he left the mansion behind himself, but he knew that Ezra watched over him until Crowley had turned into an indistinguishable little dot on the horizon.

—

When he came back, Rome was burning.

The spectacle was soul crushing. Buildings turning charred and mangled, people crying in the streets, calling out for loved ones. Powerless eyes watching as the flames engulfed more and more.

Crowley rushed to the mansion, heart sinking as he got closer and he could finally see through the thick smoke that it was burning, too.

Ezra never mentioned ever dying due to fire, before. Crowley hoped this won’t be the first time.

Some relief broke in his chest when he saw the modest group of familiar people at the foot of the small hill that led to the mansion, standing away from the flames.

Ezra was there, a bit of soot sticking to his pale hair, but clearly unscathed. The servants were grouped around him, weeping.

“All will be fine,” Ezra was saying, soothing, as Crowley approached. “Do not fret, now— Oh.”

Their eyes met in the red light of that night, Ezra’s shoulders going just a bit soft.

“You must go and make sure your families are safe, now,” he said, gentle but firm, turning back toward his servants.

“But, sir—“

“Nothing that can be done, Cecilia,” Ezra interrupted. “Standing here and watching will do no one any good. Do go on.”

One by one, the servants excused themselves to plunge into the streets free of fire, running toward their loved ones. Crowley stepped by Ezra’s side, as he turned to look back up at the burning mansion.

“Everyone escaped,” he said, when their elbows brushed. “We were quite lucky.”

There was a tenseness to his tone, a forced calmness.

“Ezra…” Crowley murmured, soft “All your work—“

“They are just— Things, my dear fellow,” Ezra replied, something stifled and pained in the depths of his voice. “Things are replaceable.”

But they weren’t. They both knew that. All the art Ezra had been working on for decades, unique pieces that could not be replicated even by the hands that made them in the first place— Gone, in a single night.

Crowley gulped around a knot in his throat, eyes running along the figure of his friend. Ezra was standing by the edges of his property with a dignified stance, hands resting on the low wall almost longingly, gray eyes never leaving the flames that roared up toward the sky. Sudden panic seized at Crowley’s chest. For someone who could not die, losing the fruits of hard labour was probably one of the most devastating experiences to go through. The mere idea of possibly losing who Ezra was, that this might cause him to plunge back into his sadness and misery, was too much to bear.

“You should come with me,” he said, the words out of his mouth before he could even think about them. That was enough to make Ezra turn to him.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You should come with me,” Crowley repeated. “Let’s leave. Do not linger to watch the charred remains, there’s no need to hurt yourself so. Just come with me. We can leave right away.”

Ezra blinked, gray eyes moving about to take in Crowley’s expression.

“…Yes,” he replied, almost a whisper, and yet firm.

Crowley took his hand, and Ezra followed, pliant. They disappeared into the red night, never to be seen again.

—

Centuries went by like sand between one’s fingers. They roamed, never quite stopping for long in a single place. Despite how Crowley did all he could to subtly keep his companion alive, there would be times that he failed. A robbery gone very wrong as they traversed the Pyrenees left Crowley holding a hand over a copiously bleeding wound on Ezra’s neck, wet rattles leaving the rapidly paling man’s mouth. Ezra had launched one last, tearful look at Crowley, almost apologetic, before going limp, eyes glassy. It took him three and a half days to come back with a gasp.

There had been illnesses. Most of the time Crowley would use little miracles to keep Ezra healthy, but sometimes Crowley had to leave to attend to his own demonic business, and a handful of times he happened to come back either to an already dead or very close to dying Ezra.

“The hygiene habits around here are quite abysmal,” he’d lament once back to life. Ezra had long learnt that keeping himself as clean as possible was the best way to ensure he wouldn’t have to suffer through yet another ailment, but there was very little he could do about the people surrounding them besides trying to very enthusiastically convince them to wash their bloody hands. Crowley had very wisely decided it was time to leave for greener pastures, that time.

There was an unspoken rule between them. They’d be together, but sometimes they wouldn’t, either because Crowley had business to attend to, or Ezra felt like spending some time alone. They never asked what the other had been up to during these breaks, but would listen if any explanation was offered. It suited Crowley rather nicely.

The companionship was— Pleasing. They’d lose themselves in intricately philosophical discussions one night, and laugh about raunchy jokes the next. They’d bicker, but never viciously so, and more often than not they went to sleep with a smile on their faces. Ezra seemed to have lost his taste for creating art, after the burning of Rome, but he took onto new passions. He’d study plants and animals and humans alike. Sometimes they’d inevitably stumble into death, and Ezra would quietly spend some hours cutting open bodies and explore the bloody insides with a set of knives Crowley had originally gifted him for the sole purpose of self defense. Crowley let him be, keeping an eye out to make sure no one could find his friend currently elbows deep in some poor sod’s guts. The price for those long hours was the very lively light in Ezra’s eyes, as he wrote down any new discovery on whatever piece of parchment-like material he could put his plump hands on.

He asked Crowley if he’d be willing to open Ezra’s own body next time he’d die, just to see if his insides looked like those of the other humans, but promptly shut his mouth and never proposed again when Crowley paled violently.

This new passion seemed to pay off quite nicely, as they went from city to city, offering knowledge to whoever would listen. It paid off in earnest when the plague started to spread, and Ezra launched himself vigorously in an attempt of holding the illness at bay. The settlements they visited would know much lower rates of victims and a quicker dying out of the pandemic. So many perished, during those years, but Crowley was intimately convinced that much more would have, had Ezra’s not been there to take care of the sick and spread awareness.

Ezra himself had fallen victim to the plague a couple of times. Both times, when it became clear he had reached a point of no return, he’d apologize to Crowley for the trouble he was causing, and then bled himself out to make the whole affair quicker. The first time, Crowley had decided to make himself scarce when Ezra told him he didn’t have to look, if he didn’t want to. The second time he stayed, making sure Ezra would come back to a clean lodging.

“You don’t have to keep doing this.” Crowley said after the second time, when Ezra awoke with the usual gasp, not a sign of the plague nor the wounds he inflicted on myself on his fair skin. “We can leave for a while. Come back when it is all over.”

“Do tell me, dear friend—“ Ezra had replied, somewhat melancholic “If I don’t do this, what is the reason of my existence?”

Crowley hadn’t replied. It was one of the few point of contention between them. Crowley had tried to convince Ezra that just— _Being_ should be enough, but Ezra refused, telling him that there _must_ be a point to it all. And that maybe the point was shifting with the times, and it was alright. Ezra would shift as well.

Crowley never insisted. In lieu of angering his friend, he argued to himself, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head telling him he was a hypocrite. Crowley had a reason to be, after all. He was a Demon, and he brought mischief between the humans. He _had_ something to do, whereas Ezra, technically, did not.

“Besides…” Ezra continued, pensive “Despite your though act, I do know you also care, or you wouldn’t be my side, lending a hand when needed.”

Crowley had pouted, not dignifying Ezra with an answer, at that. Ezra smiled knowingly.

Time kept going. The Middle Ages seemed to be rolling to a close, finally, causing no small amount of joy in Ezra.

“I am quite ready for a change, my dear,” he’d said, “forgive my language, but the last millennia _sucked_.”

He had a point, Crowley couldn’t argue with that in the slightest, despite the fact that most of his fellow Demons had welcome the Dark Ages with open arms. Then again, Crowley had always been a rather eccentric Demon.

They returned to Italy when they heard of all the fun things happening in Florence. They hadn’t put foot on the peninsula since the burning of Rome, which Crowley couldn’t blame Ezra for. The loss of decades of work had burnt him worse than any real fire possibly could.

The passion for the arts seemed to bloom back in him, when they settled in Florence for a while. Ezra took to it like a fish to water, fluttering about like a very high-strung, excitable bee in an endless field of flowers. That, mixed with the wide array of knowledge he’d collected in the centuries past, inevitably turned him into a central figure much like he had been back in Rome, causing no small amount of humans to yearn for his death.

This time around, though, Crowley was there. He couldn’t always look after Ezra, but, _by Satan,_ he was going to do everything in his powers to protect him when they’d be together. The curious coincidence wasn’t lost on Ezra.

“Leonardo is convinced I have a guardian angel,” he commented one evening as they shared a meal and Ezra told of the hit attempted on him that afternoon, which failed miserably right in front of his and his artist friend’s eyes. “It was rather the curious declaration, especially coming from him. He’s never been very religious.”

Crowley had hummed, smiling to himself. More of a guardian Demon, really. Not that Ezra ever needed to know that.

Ezra’s tendencies took a turn for the hedonistic, during those years, as they slid back into a very comfortable and pampered life. Although he seemed physically unable to lose that selfless streak in his soul that pushed him to act for the benefit of others whenever the chance arose, or whenever he _created_ the chances. He allowed himself to partake in more physical pleasures, which he refused to do for close to two thousand years. Crowley wasn’t quite sure if it was for the fact that they spent a large majority of those centuries together, or if it was the lack of hygiene that ran rampant, clearly unsettling his immortal friend. Maybe it was a bit of both.

But now that they established themselves in the city for a clearly longer term, Ezra seemed quite content in allowing himself to take on lovers. Never settling on a single one, he seemed to share pleasure with an array of men without a hint of remorse in his gray eyes.

Crowley told himself he wasn’t jealous. After that night ages back, under the stars of Rome’s sky, Ezra hadn’t proposed again. There had been times his silver gaze had lingered over Crowley in ways that felt more than purely platonic, but Crowley had never done anything about it. There was the needy beast in his belly that’d rattle at the cage bars and snarl, demanding satisfaction, but Crowley paid it no mind.

He couldn’t pinpoint the specific reason, mostly because he absolutely refused to even think about it. He’d rather keep things as they were.

Because there was no one in the entire world that Crowley cared for as much as he cared for Ezra. Demons weren’t his friends, Angels were his enemies, and human lives just went by so fast, like a flickering candle. But not Ezra— Ezra would always be there, cunning and charming and deliriously beautiful, and Crowley would never risk to topple over the balance that they’ve built up to in millennia of shared experiences.

So he told himself he wasn’t jealous when he’d witness Ezra smiling as the dashing duke put a hand on the small of his back, nor when he’d bring to their shared home sketches of himself made by clearly loving, smitten hands. He’d bite his tongue when he sat inside and drank, as Ezra was in the gardens with a musician who composed a sweet tune just for him, and he’d smile, close lipped, when Ezra would introduce him as an ‘old friend’.

They were friends. That was all Crowley could ask of him.

Crowley decided to take a break and settle the uneasiness eating at him by taking a vacation in the new world. Columbus was a prick, but the ‘discovery’ of the american continent had been quite a ride, although he’d have enjoyed the beautiful scenery far more if it hadn’t been for all the killing and pillaging. A lot of the men that binged in said killing and pillaging found grim fates waiting for them in the years to follow, as if a vengeful devil had made sure they’d never know a day of peace for the rest of their lives. Once he came back Ezra had moved, deciding to settle in London for a bit, leaving behind a message to inform Crowley of this new arrangement. When they met again, he welcomed Crowley in a modest but comfortable home, and cited the rainy weather, which he quite enjoyed, and the need to cut ties with people who were starting to grow suspicious of his never-aging body as reasons for putting so much distance between himself and Italy.

They never moved again, except for a decade after 1666 when the city decided to do a reprise of the whole ‘burning to the ground’ tantrum that another famous capitol had thrown centuries past. Ezra had looked quite dismayed by the entire ordeal, and Crowley deemed a little break necessary.

They visited Paris in 1794, and Ezra eyed the guillotines with an unsettling amount of interest. When Crowley had carefully inquired about it, Ezra shrugged

“I don’t think I ever tried decapitation,” he said, thoughtful. “I wonder if that might be the one way to take me out for good. I mean, separating head and body sounds very— _Final_, does it not?”

Crowley experienced the sensation of being dizzyingly nauseous for the first time in his immortal life, as he studiously pretended to sound aloof while he reminded Ezra that he’d been separated from his limbs in multiple occasions, in the past, and he always came back in one piece. Ezra hummed an agreement, and never touched on the topic again.

As the nineteen century uncoiled they really started to settle down in London. Ezra, who had begun to purchase and store books in all sorts of places ever since the printing press became a thing, seemed rather content to just keep feeding into his collection while simultaneously taking care of all the big and small affairs he manoeuvred from behind the scenes, that guaranteed him a steady stream of income.

Crowley, who didn’t _really_ need human amenities such as money, a stable home, or a plate on his table multiple times a day, just used his powers to assure himself a comfortable existence and keep up appearances with Ezra. A good chunk of Ezra’s businesses also included Crowley, in some way, but the immortal did not need to know. Crowley was just subtly taking care of him as he’s been doing for centuries.

The following years up to the first decade of the 1900s went by without much of a hitch for them. They’ve adjusted to new routines and a mostly peaceful life interspersed with the occasional journey to do some good. —Or bad—

The rise of the first Great War brought with it their second real fight. As the conflicts seemed to intensify, Ezra had candidly shared the idea of enlisting himself as a medic, make himself useful, as they casually drank tea.

“Don’t you need proper documentation, for that?” Crowley had replied, ice in his chest, hoping it’d be enough to discourage his friend from throwing himself down that particular rabbit hole. Ezra snorted.

“Hardly a trouble, my dear. I know how to take care of that sort of issue,” he replied, distracted. “I’ve been thinking about last names— How does ‘Fell’ sound? Ezra Fell. It has a nice ring to it, does it not?”

For a wild instant Crowley’s mind went blank, pure fear clutching at his heart. But the expression on Ezra’s face was too mild, for that choice of last name to be a subtle jab to Crowley’s real nature.

Weird coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless.

“Why ‘fell’?” He asked, willing his voice steady. Ezra’s gaze took on a pensive note.

“I am not quite sure, to be frank. It just came up and sounded— Right.”

Crowley took another sip of his alcohol infused tea, before asking. “You know, I always wondered— About your name. Did you remember it or did you choose it?”

“Neither. I— Had no name,” Ezra admitted after long seconds, eyes going even more far in the past. “For a long time, until I met a small family. Father, mother, the baby she was carrying. She gave me that name, and I never really thought about it much. Just accepted it, and kept it.”

Crowley took another methodical sip.

“Ezra…” He finally said, going back to the core of the ice grip currently clutching at his ribs. “Please, don’t go.”

Ezra blinked at him, clearly surprised. In the millennia they shared, neither of them had ever outright expressed disapproval of the other’s actions. They might have pulled faces, launched subtle jabs at each other, and sighed loudly, but not once either of them had ever said ‘_I don’t want you to do this thing’_. And going by the way the silver in Ezra’s eyes darkened, he did not like this new development very much.

“Why should I not?”

“You know why—“ Crowley groaned, exasperated. “It’s a carnage out there, Ezra. _They_ are finding more and more ways to kill one another. What you will find is just more pain and suffering. You will hurt yourself physically and mentally. You don’t need to do this.”

“_They_ are not much different from you and I,” Ezra’s nostrils flared just so. “And I’d rather think we had this discussion enough, by now, Crowley.”

“It’s not the same, don’t be pedantic,” Crowley grunted. “There are guns capable of wiping out entire platoons with a single hit, out there. It’s very different from facing one guy with a sword, or help containing a viral outbreak in a village lost between mountains. What do you think a single man, even if immortal, could possibly do?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Something feral flashed into Ezra’s eyes, eyebrows scrunching in the middle, and he stood after putting down his cup with a loud jingle of ceramics.

“I’ve never, not even _once, _belittled you for the way you choose to spend your immortality,” he growled, low. “You don’t _get_ to deride the way _I_ do.”

“I’m not!” Crowley snapped back, also rising, exasperated. “You efforts are— Commendable, Ezra, but you are still just one individual!”

“Well, Crowley, I have to say something that might sound new, to you, so listen well—“ Ezra retorted, icily cold. “You are _not_ the owner of me, so I _will_ do as I please.”

And with that he turned on his heels, slamming the door behind himself as he left Crowley’s apartment. Crowley fell back on his seating and collected his forehead against his own knees, fingers grabbing at his hair as a frustrated growl escaped his lips. How could one unbearably stubborn, irritatingly steadfast immortal being recall words from thousand of years past and turn them right back on who first pronounced them with double the venom in tone?

“Stupid bloody idiot—“

Crowley had no idea who he was talking about, if he had to be honest. Maybe the both of them. Ezra, for being such an inflexible asshole in his convictions. And himself, for not actually saying the words he should have said.

Say _“I don’t want you to get hurt over and over”,_ instead of “_It’s not the same, don’t be pedantic_”. Say “_I care about you and I want you to be happy and safe”_, instead of “_What do you think a single man, even if immortal, could possibly do?_”

Say “_I love you, and I love that you care so much, but the thought of seeing you suffer again it’s unbearable_” instead of “_you are still just one individual!_”

“I don’t—“ He choked to himself, angry. “I don’t _love_ him—“

_Are we sure about that?_ The hungry thing in his belly purred from behind it’s cage _It’s been a while since you’ve fallen for him, darling. Isn’t it about time you admit that to yourself?_

“Shuddup,” Crowley muttered to nothing, getting up on his feet to throw the cups in the sink.

—

Ezra came back three years later, and didn’t seem surprised in the slightest upon finding Crowley waiting for him in his own home, which had been kept tidy in his absence.

He looked tired, Crowley thought, as their eyes met silently across the room. Tired like someone who saw too much death, in all possible meanings of the concept.

“There’s something I’ve always meant to ask you,” Crowley declared, in lieu of a greeting. “What happens when you die? Where do you go before you come— Back?”

Ezra blinked almost cat-like, as he put his army-green luggage down and shed the coat. He was wearing a full blown formal uniform. There were medals attached to his chest.

“Nothing. Nowhere,” he then said, voice low and honest. “It’s like waking from a dreamless sleep.”

“Have you dreamt?”

“Not much,” Ezra admitted, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. He didn’t move when Crowley closed the distance between them and enveloped him in a silent hug, but relaxed with a soft sigh against Crowley’s shoulder.

—

They slid back into their life before the war as if nothing had happened. As if Crowley hadn’t spent three years feeling as if he were in a suspended state, waiting with his lungs holding in breaths. Not much had changed, except for the constant trickle of people who would sometimes visit Ezra, to thank him for what he had done. For all the lives he saved, for the young men who managed to come back home, if not in one piece, at the very least _alive_, thanks to him.

Ezra would welcome these families in his house, drink tea with them, listen and offer gentle smiles, and then let them go with a new little baggage hooked to his heart, that was just lifted from the shoulders of the people that readily offered him eternal gratitude.

Sometimes Crowley had been there, silently helping out serving tea. No one commented. Some humans would look at the both of them in a knowing way, and smile privately.

When that happened, when Crowley had been present to listen, Ezra would look at him, his gaze offering a pained challenge.

_What a single man could possibly do, Crowley? You tell me._

Crowley never rose to the bait. They kept living.

When the signs of the second conflict started to show themselves loud and clear, Ezra shuffled some papers, and his age suddenly lost a good couple of decades. He’d chuckle when someone would comment about how there had once been an Ezra Fell in the army, a medic as well, and a highly decorated one at that. He’d reply with ‘I get that a lot.’

The day he was set to leave, Crowley went to see him.

“Are you not going to try stop me, this time?” Ezra asked, eyes hooded with something undefinable.

“Would it change anything if I did?”

“No. Not at all, I’m afraid.”

“Then I won’t waste my time,” Crowley murmured. _I want to come with you_, he wanted to add, _I wish I could come with you, be by your side, protect you from all harm. But I can’t._

Something must’ve transpired on his expression, even through the lenses of his dark glasses. Ezra gently slid those off of his face, looking directly into Crowley’s gaze. He tucked the glasses in the pocket of Crowley’s shirt, before closing firm fingers around his collar and drag Crowley down with a quiet pull. Crowley’s eyes widened, just a tiny bit, as he thought for a frantic instant that Ezra was going to kiss him. But Ezra pulled some more, and his warm lips pressed against Crowley’s forehead in a soft contact. A handful of seconds, and he let go, turning without another word.

Crowley watched him leave. Watched the plane take off, and become a dot in the sky. He drove back to his apartment, and then proceeded to get drunk, enough that he won’t even feel any anger at the sobs that broke out of his unwilling mouth, at the tears that rolled traitorously down his cheeks.

It would’ve been so much easier, had Ezra kissed his lips. Crowley could’ve pretended it was only meant to be a bit of a tease. Some lust escaping his usually controlled friend. He could’ve pretended it meant nothing.

But that kiss— The soft, gentle pressing on Crowley’s forehead, the warmth and the lingering of it all spoke of a tenderness that went beyond lust. Went beyond desire. Went beyond friendly affection that had sedimented into habits through the years.

It spoke of so much more, of something that made Crowley’s heart sting like someone had taken a knife to it. Something that made him unable to run away from the obvious that he had been studiously ignoring for years, maybe even centuries.

The simple truth that he _loved_ Ezra. He loved his selflessness and selfishness, his cleverness, and all the little things that made him _him_. He loved being with Ezra, hearing him laugh, seeing him smile. He loved the fleeting expressions he’d make after a good meal, and the pensiveness that would fog his silver eyes as he sipped a tea during a rainy afternoon. He loved his bravery and his idiotic lack of self-preservation and his entire, unexplainable existence.

Crowley was desperately in love, and, in some ways, Ezra loved him back.

But it wasn’t truly Crowley, the person Ezra loved, wasn’t he? It was a facade, a front that Crowley put up for him. Because he had lied about his real nature, at first, only to protect himself. And then that lie had shifted into protecting Ezra, who desperately searched for ways to make something of his immortal life, who latched onto Crowley from the first moment he realized Crowley had been immortal, as well.

Crowley kept up the lie, because he couldn’t bear the idea of slipping that rug from under Ezra’s feet. To give the illusion Ezra hadn’t been one of a kind, only to rip it away and leave him as the_ only one_ yet again.

Crowley lied for centuries, acted around Ezra for just as long. Who Ezra cared for wasn’t Crowley, it was just an imitation lacking some key features.

They could not build upon a foundation of lies. Crowley should come clean with him—

But that idea was just as terrifying as the thought of loving Ezra from behind a mask for the rest of his life. It had been _so_ long. How furious would Ezra be, if Crowley told him the truth?

Would he even want to ever speak to Crowley again?

Crowley fell into a drunken, perturbed sleep that night, questions unanswered.

It was hardly a new experience. His questions always went unanswered.

—

The Bentley roared almost questioningly as it was parked in the first free spot in the usual brash way. But it’s owner got off, slamming the door close without a word. Crowley was utterly dejected, as he made his way through the street and back up to his flat.

His week had been, in one simple word, horrible. The war was over, but it felt like a hollow victory, a sense of dread that insisted on not making itself scarce permeating like a solid presence, still tightening it’s clutch on the world. He got an assignment from downstairs that turned out to be a pain in the bosom, to say the least, and when he finally found the time to go over Ezra’s, hoping to either find him there, or wait for him as he did after the first World War, he found out that the house had been sold to a family that was just moving in. They had been kind, if confused, as they told him they’d bought the house a month prior.

Ezra decided to leave without saying anything. Confusion turned into anger turned into terror and then into shame.

Maybe Ezra found out the truth about Crowley, somehow. Maybe he’d been so angry he’d decided to just up and leave without leaving a trace. Or maybe he found someone else, out there. Someone that could offer him something Crowley could not. Maybe there _were_ other immortal humans, and Ezra stumbled into one, found out he had better choices, and picked between the two.

Maybe— Maybe Ezra died, and this time around, he did not come back.

Crowley might never find out the truth. And whichever this truth might be, the core of the matter was that Ezra was gone, Crowley had no idea of where he could be, and he was seriously contemplating the idea of strolling into the nearest church and dunking his head into a basin of holy water, because literally anything would be better than the keen pain that was currently splitting his chest into two. He toed his shoes off as he closed the door behind himself, fighting the insistent prickling in his eyes— And then he noticed the coat.

It was draped over the back of Crowley’s couch, innocently looking in it’s muted shade of military green. Crowley gaped at it like a fish, before dashing deeper into his flat like someone whose heels had just been set on fire.

No one was in the kitchen, but there was a used cup with just a half moon of tea on the bottom, sitting in the sink. The bathroom was still a bit damp, as if someone recently took a shower.

Heart in his throat, Crowley opened the door of his bedroom. The shutters were half closed, and the sun was still disappearing under the horizon out there, so he could see the green uniform jacket orderly resting on the back of a chair. There were medals on it this time around, too. A tie had been neatly folded on Crowley’s desk, and dress shoes sat by the door. A dying ray of sunlight shone in, guiding Crowley’s gaze toward the bed.

Ezra was deeply asleep on a side, button up white shirt just vaguely open on his chest, wearing military green slacks and socks. He was hugging Crowley’s pillow to himself like his life depended on it, half of his face sinking into it. The light, intruding from the outside, hit him just so. His ruffled, soft looking blond-white hair shone like a halo, and his lips were slightly parted, breath gently even, as his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks.

Crowley had spent almost six thousand years on Earth, roaming between mortals, doing so with this creature that should have never existed in the first place for a good chunk of it. He saw life, and death, discovery and art. Humans evolved around them, and Crowley saw it all.

And yet, not once, not even back then when he still had white feathers, had he ever seen something quite as beautiful as the sight that was being presented to him. He would’ve dropped on his knees, and thanked God, hadn’t he been well aware of the fact that She was kind of a bitch, and he definitely, pettily did not want to thank Her for anything at all.

So he approached silently, instead, eyes burning. As he got closer, he noticed how tired Ezra looked. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and his cheeks weren’t as round as usual. His body was less plump, and there was a substantial pallor to his complexion. Crowley had no idea what to make of it. On the one hand, this might suggest that, at least, Ezra hadn’t died for quite a while. On the other hand, he was carrying the signs of hardships loudly and clearly.

Crowley did kneel, in the end, even if it only did so by the bed, to stare. Ezra did not stir, not even when Crowley dared card his fingers through his shimmering hair.

The grateful words rested on the tip of Crowley’s tongue, as he closed his eyes with a trembly breath. Ezra was back, he was there, right in Crowley’s bed, alive and real and _Thank God_.

_Just this time around. Don’t go get all smug on me, now, are we clear?_

Ezra shifted oh-so slightly, eyelashes fluttering, and his eyes cracked open. Crowley could’ve gotten lost in the sea of silver of his irises.

“…Crowley,” Ezra murmured, tiredly, a small smile pulling at his lips. He lazily turned on his back, tipping his head against the pillow, throat exposed. “Hello, my dear.”

His voice was so warm, his words so tender. His gaze hadn’t left Crowley’s, not even for an instant, as he languidly, slowly stretched. He was so delicately open, not a look nor a gesture betraying a need to guard himself. As if he trusted Crowley without hesitation, without question.

As if… As if he was _offering_, for the first time, after thousands of years.

And it would’ve been so easy. So very easy. All Crowley had to do was to shift his weight forward just a tiny bit. Cup the back of Ezra’s head to tilt it up some more. Lean down and gently push his lips against Ezra’s. Nuzzle his cheeks, brush the arch of his eyebrow with his mouth, and then go back down, trailing tiny kisses on Ezra’s temple, on the curve of his jaw. Go down even more, nip gently at his vulnerable neck, trace the line of his exposed collarbone with the tip of his tongue.

It would’ve been so easy. And Ezra was offering.

Ezra was _wanton_.

And Crowley—

Crowley was a _liar_.

“Welcome back,” he murmured, smiling weakly. He did not lean in, did not dare touch more than he already allowed himself to. He ran his fingers through Ezra’s hair one last time, before retreating his hand. “You gave me quite a scare, you know? Went by your place and found a family moving in. Honestly.”

Ezra’s tired eyes turned melancholic for half a second, before his expression smoothed over into an easy smile. He turned back on his side, adjusting himself on Crowley’s pillow. His neck wasn’t exposed anymore.

“I had a moving business taking care of the storing of my belongings and the selling, while I was making my way home. I didn’t feel like going back to that house,” Ezra replied easily, as if he hadn’t just bared himself and got rejected for a third time. “I wanted change. I’m afraid I might’ve been a bit hasty, though. I don’t have a place to stay, yet.”

Making his way home, he said, letting himself get found into Crowley’s flat, into Crowley’s bed, without needing permission. Because that house Ezra owned wasn’t home. Home was London, maybe. Or home was where Crowley was.

And Crowley would be where _Ezra_ was, so London seemed the most likely candidate for the title of ‘_home_’, in that moment.

“Of course you have a place to stay,” Crowley replied, making a show of rolling his eyes. Ezra’s smile widened.

But there was still something deeply sorrowful, in the depths of his gaze.


	4. The lovers

Chapter 4: sɹǝʌo˥ ǝɥ┴

2019

Ezra sighed. Crowley was late.

He promised he wouldn’t be, but he was. He had been acting awfully shifty, lately, which was saying _something_. Because shifty was just about Crowley’s constant state of being, and to be noticeably more so was clear sign that something was amiss.

And he _had_ to let a gaggle of university students collect around the desks in the back, breathing all over his precious collection. Whose idea was it, to open this shop?

Oh- Right, his own. Granted, he’d drunk just an extra glass of wine that night of about eleven years prior, and went on a passionate rant about how spreading knowledge was very important and, really, students nowadays had to spend way too much on ever changing updated editions that sold for ridiculous prices. Ezra found the modern world’s tendency to make an industry out of everything absolutely appalling, even more so when it became an obstacle in the pursuit of education.

Crowley had hummed and nodded in all the right places, drinking what should’ve made him drop dead due to alcohol poisoning.

(Ezra had tried that, too. It didn’t work, it wasn’t fun, would not recommend.)

“Why don’t you sell books, then?” Crowley suddenly piped up, vaguely slurred, when there had been a small lull in the conversation. “You could— Sell for competitive prices. And share all your super cool first editions with knowledge-hungry students.”

And Ezra, who was humanitarian down to his core, but not without a streak of selfishness, had stammered around his words.

“My— F-first editions?”

“Seem to recall that some of those contain passages that are almost lost to the public— You’ve bragged about that quite at length,” Crowley’s grin took an unholy shade “and you are just keeping those closed in your flat. Kind of a shame, don’t you agree?”

And his alcohol addled brain had, indeed, agreed. He loved his collection, and it _was_ kind of a shame he was the only one that had the privilege to partake in it.

And so he snagged that corner shop in Soho, and E.Z. Fell was born. Crowley had laughed about the name, and promptly got silenced.

“Shush, Anthony Janthony.”

“It’s not _Janthony_! I told you!”

“You won’t tell me what the J stands for, one has to draw his own conclusion. _A.J_.”

“Don’t— _Ezra_. Alright, point taken.”

“I do think the two initials thing-y sounds cool.”

“I know you do, you _dork_.”

The actual ‘shop’ side was mostly dedicated to the selling of all manners of textbooks at extremely discounted prices. It was a net loss for him, but it hardly mattered, he had other channels to keep himself comfortably alive. There was pretty much an endless stream of customers, for that side.

The— _Other_ side was access to his collection of rarities. That side was free, but came with strict rules:

1- Not a single book would ever leave the shop. Ezra would gladly wait up the entire night if anyone needed to pour over his books on a time crunch, but he’d never allow a copy outside. He’d rather go bite a pufferfish. (That one he hadn’t tried yet, not for lack of wanting to. He just never had the chance of putting his hands on a pufferfish.)

2- Gloves on at all times.

3- Pens were to stay as far from the copies as possible, at all times.

4- ABSOLUTELY NO FOOD NOR DRINKS IN THE BACKROOM. There was a break room with snacks and water nearby. And Ezra had ears like a bat, whenever it came to the rustling of packages, the opening of tupperware lids, or any possible sound that led to snack-ing in the backroom. NO. FOOD.

5- Stop asking about the copy machine. Spines had to be replaced and Ezra had almost wept. Pictures taken with phones were allowed as long as no pressure was put on the books. Crack one more spine, and Ezra would crack _yours_.

6- Despite popular belief, Ezra did actually _need_ to eat and sleep, so the shop had opening hours and closing days that ought to be respected. If you estimated you’d be spending the night, you’d better give a modicum of warning. Two-three days should be enough.

7- There’s a form to compile and turn in that you had to respect. Don’t expect to just stroll in and be allowed in the back. Ezra had tried that method at the start, trustful in people’s common sense. That method got scrapped five days in. This is why we can’t have nice things.

8- More rules could be added, always check the list to stay updated.

Break any of the above, and you might incur in the wrath of an immortal being that had thousand of years to learn the ins and outs of the human body. It could be a rather troublesome affair. Not that the students would ever know about the immortality bit.

“Closing time is in five minutes, lads!” Ezra called loudly as he put away the very little money he made that day. Jeremy, who was currently writing a thesis on Oscar Wilde and thus had spent more time in the shop than he had in his own flat, during the past two months, promptly replied “But Mr. Crowley isn’t here yet!”

Ugh. These kids were starting to know him way too well.

“Closing time is closing time, young man, tone down the cheek.” Ezra huffed back with no real bite, hearing laughs from the backroom. He smiled to himself. “And do remember to empty the pantry, bring something home, before leaving. I won’t want the food to go to waste while I’m away.”

“Yes, Mr. Fell!” Giorgia, a very Italian, very broke exchange student replied cheerfully. She had been delighted in discovering that Ezra spoke fluent, if a bit outdated, Italian, and even more so when she discovered there was _free food_ she could have while studying in the shop. Ezra had made a point to quietly stock up on more than just quick snacks, after he found out she had to sometimes skip entire meals to make ends meet.

Right on cue, a familiar braking noise echoed from the outside, the roar of an engine dying off. The door opened with a jingle.

“You’re late,” Ezra reprimanded with prim annoyance. Crowley seemed to be vaguely disheveled, short hair a bit more mussed than usual, sunglasses vaguely askew.

“Sorry, sorry—“ Crowley huffed back, breathless. “It was— You know how it is. Bloody M25.”

“You took the M25? What for?” Ezra asked, confused. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving the city—“

Crowley made vague noises, hands flying in the air in that way that meant ‘I’m going to be making up a bunch of bollocks, and you will pretend to believe me’.

“It’s just how it is— You know. Stuff. Things to do,” he finally added, lamely. Ezra pursed his lips.

See, what he was saying about Crowley being even more shifty than usual?

“Whatever you say, dear.” He gave up with a sigh, closing the till with a definite key turn.

“Hullo, Mr. Crowley,” Mohammed greeted, as the small group of students poured out the backroom, bags full of food in tow.

“Hey, kiddos,” Crowley replied, distractedly. “Hope the studying went well— All ready? Me and Ezra really ought to go.”

The students, used to Crowley’s often brash words, did not take offence. They all wished them a good vacation as they poured out of the shop, Giorgia especially offering a cheerful ‘bye-bye!’, her backpack almost bursting with what was once the content of the pantry. Ezra closed the door after them with a smile, and flipped the sign on closed.

“Are we in a hurry? I thought we were just going to spend some days at home and rest,” he then asked, tilting an eyebrow as he turned around. Crowley shifted his weight from foot to foot, almost vibrating with pent-up energy.

“Changed my mind. I thought we could go— Out. Leave the city for a bit, enjoy some fresh air?”

He didn’t sound very convinced. Ezra’s eyebrow rose a bit more, and Crowley sniffed.

“I already prepared the bags, actually,” he added, and that was the moment Ezra confirmed to himself that something was, indeed, amiss.

“Crowley, is something wrong?” he asked, frowning slightly. Crowley shifted his weight again, and pushed his hands in his tight jeans pockets, as if stopping them from wringing around.

“No? Should something be?”

Ezra’s frown deepened. He didn’t like it when Crowley lied to him. Which meant he’d spend a good chunk of time in a ‘_not liking it’_ state, considering Crowley lied to him on a daily basis.

One would think that, after millennia of being lied to and accepting it without a word, an immortal being would’ve grown used to it. But Ezra was nothing if not a creature of long sedimented habits, and he’d still feel that pang of sadness in his chest whenever his friend felt the need to deceive him, like a pinprick right in his heart.

“Very well.” He gave up, because he always did. “Where are we going?”

“Huuuh— I don’t know,” Crowley replied, sounding astonished, as if he wasn’t the one that just forced an outing on the both of them. “I figure we’d drive around a bit. Stop in whichever place we’d fancy.”

“…You just wanted an excuse to take the Bentley out on a ride, didn’t you.”

“Got me there!” Crowley said with a forced laugh. Prick goes the pin in Ezra’s heart. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“…Sure.” Ezra sighed, grabbing his coat on the fly before closing shop. They slid into the Bentley, and as he latched his security belt, Ezra added, “Just make sure to get us back by Sunday evening, I need to go stock up on more snacks for the week.”

“Of course.” Crowley replied, and there was something gloomy deep in his light tone, as he turned the engine on. Ezra did not ask.

—

They drove out of London, over the M25, plunging in countryside roads under the rapidly darkening sky. They did not speak. Not that Ezra ever spoke much, when in the car with Crowley. He was often too busy trying not to get carsick. The man drove like a maniac, and Ezra had long stopped trying to tell him to calm down. In part because Crowley always scoffed and replied ‘I_ know what I’m doing_’ with that irritating smug tone of his, and in part because there was a morbid little curiosity always nipping at the back of Ezra’s head. Wondering when —not if— they’d finally get into a crash, and what would happen then. For thousand of years Crowley had swiftly avoided death, but a car crash happening at the velocity reached by the Bentley would very likely prove fatal and— A dark, tiny part of Ezra, that he firmly refused to acknowledge, wanted to see what would happen.

Wanted to see what would happen if Crowley died.

The silence was filled, as usual, by a ‘greatest hits’ compilation of Queen’s songs. Ezra had not the faintest idea as to why Crowley would listen _only_ to the Queen, in the Bentley. He would definitely enjoy a variety of groups and music styles when at home, possessing a considerable collection of CDs that Ezra saw with his own two eyes. He’d attempted to ask, once, only receiving a wishy washy reply about it being good ‘driving music’. The pin had prickled, and Ezra hadn’t asked again.

Shifty. Crowley was always shifty.

“Let’s take a break,” said shifty man suddenly declared, stopping at the side of the road near a meadow. There were no artificial lights, out there, but the moon was full, shining silver in the sky, painting their profiles in white as they got off the Bentley. Ezra stretched, as Crowley produced a large picnic cloth from the trunk. He walked into the meadow, and Ezra curiously followed, not saying anything as Crowley opened the cloth on a spot where the grass was a bit shorter.

Wordlessly, Ezra sat by his side, and then followed suit when Crowley decided to lie down, belly toward the sky, hands pillowing his head. They watched the stars, far more visible out here than in London.

“Ezra…” Crowley suddenly said after a good five minutes of silence, only filled by the singing of night bugs. He sounded slightly tense. “Do you think the world will ever end?”

Ezra blinked slowly. Crowley had never been reluctant in launching himself into abstract, philosophical discussions with Ezra, would the topic ever rise, but it was kind of ‘far in between’ occasion. This felt— uncharacteristic.

“Well… Current consensus is that in billion of years the sun will begin to die, causing— All sorts of unpleasant things to happen to our planet. So, yes, I’d imagine that, at some point in the distant future, the world will end,” he replied, measured. Crowley grunted. “But, well— We are talking billion of years. Our minds cannot even comprehend such a stretch of time— Humans have been on Earth for an infinitesimal shard of those years and, frankly, I do believe we’ll go extinct long before that, be it caused by natural disasters or our own hands. I mean, just look at the issue of climate change— So I doubt we really ought to worry much about the death of the sun.”

Crowley did not reply, choosing instead to turn on a side. His angular cheek pushed against Ezra’s shoulder.

“Have you ever thought about what would happen to y— Us, if the world ends, and humans go extinct?” he murmured, something heavy in his voice.

“…I tend not to linger on it,” Ezra replied, carefully “I figure that, someday, our existence will come to an end, as well. It _must_ happen. Nothing lives on forever, not even the sun.”

“But if it doesn’t? If you’ll end up forced to keep on living on a barren planet, nothing alive but you, just cold, naked ground and nothing to sustain yourself with?” Crowley insisted, and the heavy thing in his voice was rapidly turning into panic. “You’d be— Forced to starve to death, and come back, only to starve again. Over and over and _over_, and I— I can’t stand the thought.” His voice turned choked. “I _can’t_—“

“That— Does sound rather unpleasant.” Ezra conceded, slowly, as he also turned on a side. He could barely see the pained grimace on Crowley’s face, in the light of the moon.

“How can you be so _calm_?” Crowley asked, strangled.

“I have to be,” Ezra replied. “Otherwise I would’ve long succumbed to madness. Dear—“ He added, pinching the temples of Crowley’s sunglasses between his fingers, sliding them off Crowley’s face. There was a thin, barely visible sheen of tears over his golden eyes. “What could possibly be bringing to you such dark thoughts? What is wrong?”

_Please, tell me. Just tell me._

“Nuthin’,” Crowley slurred, thin pupils avoiding Ezra’s. “Just saw… This stupid movie about a planet crashing into Earth and it put all sorts of strange ideas into my head. It’s dumb.”

Prick goes the pin in Ezra’s heart. With a deep sigh, Ezra folded the sunglasses, putting them down on a corner of the cloth.

“You’ve always been too imaginative,” he murmured, letting the lie slide as he always did, tucking a strand of red hair back up to rejoin the others in Crowley’s spiky style. “Everything will be just fine, dear. You mustn’t worry.”

Crowley stared at him like he did not believe him in the slightest. Like he was committing to memory every single, minute detail of Ezra’s profile to memory, something so deeply intense in his gaze it made a shiver ran down Ezra’s spine. Ezra turned belly up once more, discomforted.

He didn’t like it, when Crowley would look at him like that. It always made him feel like there was still hope they could have more than they currently had. But Crowley never offered, and he always turned away when _Ezra_ offered.

He ought to stop hoping for more than they currently had, really.

“…Let’s go,” Crowley said after long, long minutes of silence, his voice steady once more.

Without a word, Ezra helped him fold the cloth, put it back in the trunk where two duffle bags sat, and got in the Bentley. The engine roared to life, and they rode on into the night.

—

He’d fallen asleep without realizing. But he _did_ realize it, rather abruptly, when a loud bang shook him awake. The strident skidding of tires followed, as Ezra tensed on the seat, and blinked repeatedly to put things back into focus.

“Whu—“

The car had stopped. Crowley’s hands were tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white. He looked vaguely white as well, mouth a thin line.

“Someone hit us,” he said, voice flat. Ezra spluttered.

“Someo— Oh, for the_ love of God_—“ He hissed, rushing to unlatch the security belt and climb off the car. There was a bump on the bonnet by Ezra’s side, the paint vaguely scratched. Ezra rushed around the car, when he heard a soft moan.

A young woman was lying in the grass at the side of the road, a bent bicycle not far from her. He hastily kneeled at her side, trying to assess the damage in the weak light between the trees. She moaned again.

“I’m so sorry, Miss—“ Ezra said, eyebrows pinched, delicately putting his hands on her shoulders, trying to help her up. Crowley had approached, too. “How do you feel?”

“My head—“ She moaned, pawing at the scraping by her temple. She then hissed, and Ezra noticed that her other hand seemed bent in a weird angle.

“You broke her wrist, Crowley!” Ezra hissed through his teeth as he helped her up. Crowley let out a groan.

“I didn’t hit _her_, she hit _me._” He released another groan in front of Ezra’s glare. “See? Nothing broken.” He added, taking her hand. Ezra didn’t had the time to tell him ’don’t’, but the young woman didn’t protest. When Crowley’s long, nimble fingers slid away, her wrist looked perfectly normal.

“Wha—“ Ezra exhaled. He was so _sure_— “Huh. I thought— Well, I guess that’s for the better. How do you feel, Miss? Is your head spinning? Any pain?”

“…I think it’s just a scrape,” she admitted, slowly, launching a reproaching glare to the both of them. Ezra sighed.

“I’m awfully sorry, Miss. Let us give you a ride—“

“No. No we aren’t!”

“Yes, we _are_,” Ezra hissed through his teeth, guiding the young woman by the elbow toward the Bentley.

“Where do you suppose we put the bicycle?” Crowley asked, exasperated.

“I don’t care,” Ezra snapped back, helping the woman in the backseat and then swiftly turning to go collect the spilled content of her basket. “_You_ hit her, _you_ find a solution.”

He was sure he heard Crowley mutter ’_unreasonable asshole_’ under his breath as he went to pick up the bent bicycle, and paid it no mind. He put everything he could find back in the basket, before going back to the car and handed it to her. She accepted, not without a suspicious look in his direction.

“I’m very, very sorry about my friend.” Ezra sighed as Crowley was busy tying the bicycle on the luggage rack in the back with some rope. The trunk of the Bentley always seemed to contain very useful things. “An _awful_ driver. I always tell him, but does he listen?”

“I _heard_ that, Ezra!” Crowley called from the back, incensed. Ezra rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure he will be _more careful_, as we drive you back home, Miss,” he replied, louder, tone promising pain if he dared not to. Then he asked, kinder. “What is your name, my dear?”

“…Anathema Device,” she replied, clearly on guard. Ezra smiled reassuringly.

“I’m Ezra Fell, and the disgrace in sunglasses is Anthony Crowley. Pleased to meet you, Miss Device.”

“_Hey_—!”

“Maybe he should take off his sunglasses while night driving.” Anathema commented, drily. Ezra’s smile tilted sarcastically.

“Oh, I agree,” he loudly conceded, knowing it would irritate Crowley who was finally done and was walking by with a sullen air, sliding in the driver’s seat. Ezra took his place in the passenger seat, pointedly ignoring the exasperated look Crowley threw in his direction.

“Where are we taking you, then?” Crowley finally asked, tiredly peeved.

“My cottage is just down the road, take a left,” she replied, cold.

The short drive went by silently, except for the fact that ‘_Bicycle race_’ blared out from the radio. Ezra blinked at it. He was quite sure that that song shouldn’t have played, yet. He almost memorized the order of the greatest hits compilation, which actually seemed to include a good chunk of the band’s discography, rather than just the most famous songs. For some reason, Crowley looked particularly vexed by that.

“That’s it. Stop here,” Anathema said from the backseat, her voice still rightfully cold. Ezra rushed to help her off once they stopped in front of the quaint cottage, letting Crowley deal with the un-tying of the bicycle.

“Your home is lovely, Miss Device,” he commented as he picked up her basket, and escorted her toward the door. “May I ask you— Do you know if there are any lodgings Anthony and I could stop in, for the night?”

“I think there’s a hostel down in the village,” she replied, doubtful.

“What? We are not stopping here!” Crowley protested as he dragged the bent bicycle over. “Why would we stop?”

“Because I _am_ tired, for one,” Ezra bit back “and because we are going to check on Miss Device, tomorrow. Make sure she is alright. And take her bicycle to a shop for repairs.”

“_Ezra_—“

“Shush, dear. Is that alright with you, Miss?”

“…Sure,” she said, slowly. Her expression seemed less doubtful, if curious, as her eyes bounced between the two of them. “I’m fine. But I’ll take the bicycle repairs.”

“Excellent. Do have a good night, then, Miss. Rest up, we will see you tomorrow,” Ezra said with a tone that commanded no protest, gently patting her hand before handing her the basket. She accepted it with a vague head nod, looked between them one last time, and then retreated into the cottage.

“…Are we really going to stop _here_?” Crowley asked as they circled the car to get to their respective sides. Ezra glared at him, and that was it.

—

When he woke, the sun was already up and shining, and there was a bed tray sitting on the nightstand.

They got a small but comfortable room, the night prior, Crowley insisting for having breakfast included.

“_I’m_ paying, anyway—“ he said, disgruntled. “So _I_ decide.”

Ezra had simply been too sleepy to try fight him on who was going to pay for the night out, and went with the flow. He was also still pretending to be mad at Crowley for running someone over, so he just dragged his feet on autopilot to the room, once all was said and done, changed into his pajamas —Crowley had packed his most comfortable pair for him—, brushed his teeth, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He completely forgot to set any alarm of sorts, and going by the position of the sun it was already rather late in the morning.

Crowley’s bed was empty, linens thrown on a side. But he mustn’t have left long ago, because on the tray on Ezra’s nightstand sat a pot of tea that was still steaming, a clean mug, sugar, cream in one of those wasteful tiny plastic packages, and two scones with strawberry jam which were, of course, one of Ezra’s favorites. He dragged himself up in a sitting position, stomach already rumbling at the delicious sight.

Of course Crowley had made sure to leave him a breakfast to enjoy in bed. Someone might think it was just an attempt to placate Ezra’s grousing about the fact that he was _this_ close to possibly kill a poor, innocent girl, but Ezra knew better. Crowley was always full of these little surprises, these subtle gestures that someone distracted might not even notice, but jumped to Ezra’s keen eye like there had been a neon arrow pointing at them. Small silent actions, that said loud and clear ‘_I care about you!_’

He smiled to himself, as he adjusted the tray on his knees, and busied himself with preparing the tea to his liking. He guessed he could forgive Crowley for being so reckless behind the steering wheel, and maybe convince him to actually spend the rest of their little break here. Now that he was more awake he could see how nicely rustic their room was, and from the glimpses he managed to catch of the village they were in, the night prior, it seemed quite a pleasing, peaceful place. Just spending some quiet time together, breathing clean air, sounded like a rather delightful prospect.

He quelled the hunger with a scone and half a cup, before deciding to actually unplug his phone and check the time, along with his e-mails, chewing more slowly on the second scone.

(For some reason a lot of the students that went by the shop seemed convinced Ezra was living in the 1900s, and would react with baffled surprise when they discovered he had a smartphone. He had no idea of why they all seemed to share this conviction. The shop might’ve looked a bit outdated, but that was the case just because it had been like that when he purchased it, and he did like the idea of keeping the original style intact. But, for the rest, Ezra kept up with the times. His wardrobe wasn’t particularly varied, but he did make a point of replacing consumed pieces and generally followed the changing fashion, even if he started to prefer comfort over style during the last century.

Giorgia had tried to explain, once, that he had an air of antique around him. Ancient, she said, but not ancient as in super old and decrepit. Ancient in a wise way, like an ageless wizard that faced many adversities, and acquired so much knowledge. That had been very on point, Ezra had to admit, although he could hardly tell her that.)

Thankfully, not one of the messages he received overnight required his immediate attention, so he just decided to ignore them, for now. He tapped on the little phone icon, instead, and then on the one contact that was always on top of the call list.

“_Good morning—_“ Crowley said, picking up after a ring and a half, voice almost drowned in the roaring of the engine in the background. “_Slept well?_”

“Where are you?” Ezra asked, tone clearly amused. The car noise was unmistakable. “Were you so restless to feel the need to go terrify the wildlife around here with your hellish car?”

There was no real bite in his voice, only an affectionate jab. And it was clear that Crowley knew that as well, because Ezra could _hear_ the smile his friend must be wearing, as he replied.

_“Just took her for a check-in, made sure everything was in order after— Yesterday.”_

Ezra rose an eyebrow. “You just couldn’t bear the thought of going around with that bump on the bonnet, couldn’t you.”

_“I have to take care of her! She deserves the best, especially now that—“_ Crowley released a cough, before continuing. “_Not a scratch since 1926, Ezra! I had to!”_

“It’s been a real miracle, that it took so long for you to damage that poor car.” Ezra sighed, amused. “Are you on your way back? We could go take care of Miss Device’s bicycle, and then take a walk. This village seems quite a lovely place, don’t you think?”

_“Ugh. I guess we have to do that, don’t we? Alright. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”_

“I’ll get dressed, then. Thank you for the breakfast, by the way, it was very appreciated.”

Crowley sniffed pointedly. “_Never mind that. Don’t take a shower, I know you, you’d take forever._” And he closed the call.

—

Ezra took a shower. To his defense, he didn’t take _forever_. He was already mostly dressed, by the time Crowley got back into the room and leaned against the door frame, arms crossed on his chest.

Ezra gave him a brief smile, before focusing on buttoning up his shirt, hair that he distractedly combed back with his fingers already drying. He expected to receive a long-suffering sigh, or a complaint. But only silence stretched, and as he closed the last buttons under his chin he turned.

Crowley hadn’t moved, and he seemed to be intently staring at him, mouth a flat line. Ezra could almost see through the dark lenses of his sunglasses thanks to the light hitting them just right, and Crowley’s golden gaze seemed rather firmly pointed at him. So much so, in fact, that it made Ezra wonder how come a hole hadn’t opened somewhere on his body yet, due to the sheer strength of that gaze.

“Crowley… Are you alright?” he asked, softly, because while he was used to sometimes being stared at by his friend, especially when he went all pensive, the sheer amount of silently focusing he’s been doing in the past few days was rapidly growing concerning.

“Peachy,” Crowley replied, something raspy dragging at the end of the word. “C’mon, let’s go. The sooner we do this, the sooner we are free to leave.”

“Do we have to leave?” Ezra asked, rapidly slipping his shoes on and grabbing his jacket on the fly, following after Crowley. He wished a quick ‘good day’ to the receptionist of the tiny hotel, before continuing. “I was thinking we could stop here. I’m liking the atmosphere.”

“Here? Really?” Crowley asked, frowning, as they got into the Bentley, under the excited eyes of some kids that had been pointing at the vintage car from across the road.

“Why not? You said we could stop somewhere we’d fancied, and I’m fancying this village. It’s quite lovely.”

Crowley pursed his lips, but did not reply, as he took the main road that cut the village in half, directed back to Miss Device’s cottage. The drive was rather short, but it was long enough to allow Ezra to notice the multiple little, twitchy nervous gestures. Crowley’s fingers squeezing the steering wheel repeatedly, the way he bit down on his lower lip, a knee bouncing nervously. It was enough to drain out whatever feeling of relaxation he’d been enjoying after a good sleep and a filling breakfast.

“…If you want to go somewhere else I won’t mind.” Ezra said, carefully, observing Crowley out the corner of his eye. “Just say so.”

“It’s— This place isn’t bad,” Crowley replied, sounding somewhat breathless “I just wanted to go— Somewhere else. Somewhere… _More_.”

“Like what?”

“…I don’t know.” He sounded almost dreary, and Ezra turned with a little frown. There was definitely an unhappy shadow casted on Crowley’s expression.

Ezra’s mouth opened and closed, words failing him.

What was getting into Crowley?

He couldn’t really ask, because they were already braking in front of the cottage. Ezra decided to push the idea of kindly interrogating his friend, make him _spit it out_, at a later moment. For now, they traversed the cute little path leading to the main door.

“I’ll go take a look at the bicycle, assess the damage,” Crowley said, suddenly all practical as he deviated and left Ezra to it. Ezra shrugged, knocking three times with a precise cadence.

He heard barking, and then the door opened. A kid that couldn’t be older than twelve opened the door, looking up.

“Hullo,” he said, and then called louder “Miss Anathema, I think this is the guy you were talking about!”

Anathema appeared from all the way down the corridor with shoulders squared and fists tight.

“_You_,” she hissed, striding forward with intent.

“Huh-oh.” Ezra exclaimed, immediately holding his hands up in a sign of peace. “What seems to be the problem?”

“You— You are a thief, that’s what the problem is! Where is _it_?”

“Hey, the bicycle wasn’t all that banged up, I just had to adjust the chains a bit!” Crowley’s voice interjected from behind. When Ezra turned, he was pulling Anathema’s bicycle along with him, which looked like new, not a scratch on it, and definitely no bent wheels.

Huh. Ezra could swore it had been far more damaged, the prior night.

“So, there’s no need to take it for repairs, we can leave, ri— What’s going on?”

Anathema was right in front of Ezra, when he turned back toward her.

“Give me back my book,” she hissed, and Ezra could imagine steam coming out of her nostrils.

“I’m— Afraid I don’t quite understand, Miss Device,” he replied, confused.

“Anathema said you stole her super important family book. That’s not nice, mister,” the kid that opened the door interjected, petting the small dog that was excitedly jumping against his knees. “I’m Adam Young, by the way.”

“Don’t talk to them! They are people that go around running over whoever they meet!” Anathema said, sounding only half-serious, at the same time as Ezra politely replied, “Ezra Fell. Nice to meet you, young man.”

“_You_ hit _me_!” Crowley interjected, having closed the distance between them. He pushed the bicycle’s handles in Anathema’s hands. “There. Your bicycle is all fine, as you are. We are leaving.”

“Not until you give me my damn book back!” She retorted, settling the bicycle under the window.

“Look, lady, I don’t know a _single thing_ about your stupid—“

“Now, now.” Ezra slid between them, pacifying. “I’m sorry, Miss Device, I tried to pick all your belongings up last night, but it was rather dark and I might’ve missed something. We can go check on the spot for you, if you’d like.”

“No, we aren’t!” Crowley growled through his clenched teeth, clearly having reached new levels of exasperated. Ezra ignored him.

Anathema squinted. “Fine,” she finally snapped. “Go check. And you better come back with my book. Let’s go back inside, Adam, I have more copies to show you.”

“Cool,” Adam replied, enthusiastic, and the door closed.

“We aren’t actually going to check, right?” Crowley asked, bordering on desperate, as he followed after Ezra back to the car.

“Of course we are.”

“Why?!”

“_You ran her over_, Crowley!”

“She hit _me_!”

“Look, I had enough of this,” Ezra snapped, finally out of patience. “Let’s go check, and then we can leave to whichever bloody place you want to go. I don’t care anymore.”

Crowley’s mouth thinned, and he slammed the door shut with far more force than necessary. Even the Bentley’s engine sounded angry, when he turned it on.

—

Ezra carefully descended the little slope, looking around. He ought to have asked the young woman what the book looked like, at the very least, but he was so tired of all the sarcastic snapping that he just wanted to get it all over with. Crowley didn’t seem particularly inclined to help, petulantly kicking a rock as he paced near the Bentley.

His loss. The longer this took, the longer they’ll need before being finally able to leave as Crowley seemed to wish so ardently.

And then, something vaguely sparkly caught his eye. Ezra approached, relieved in noticing the golden letters imprinted on the cover of what was definitely a book, sitting between the grass.

“See?” He called loudly as he picked it up, shaking it slightly above his head to show it to Crowley. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

“…Oh,” Crowley replied, voice strangely rough. Ezra sighed. He really needed to make Crowley spill the beans about what was bothering him so much, so they could actually _enjoy_ this little vacation. He looked down, dusting some stray blades of grass off the cover of the book as curiously peered at the title.

“Ezra, listen…” Crowley had started, subdued, as Ezra ascended toward him. “I— I have something I need to tell you. Actually, um— I have several things I need to tell you. But the first one is— The most important.” Crowley shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I know this— This might come out of the blue, and I always thought I’d do this right. Take you somewhere nice, eat dinner, have music in the background… Just get in the mood, you know? But— Well, I’m— _We_ are rather short on time, so, I’m just going to say it. I— I lov—“

_“Oh my God.”_

Ezra had interrupted him. Ezra also had no idea he even interrupted anything at all, because he literally heard not a single word of what Crowley had said after ‘_Ezra, listen_’, because when his mind actually grasped fully what he was looking at, the world seemed to have stopped existing, to him.

“What—“

“Crowley!” Ezra’s voice was a mix of excitement and unholy glee, with a pinch of solemn terror thrown in. He turned the book around, cheeks pinking. Crowley blinked at him with his mouth half open.

“_What_?” He repeated, strangled.

“This book, it’s— I had no idea there actually was a copy! No one ever had a record of its actual existence! Oh, goodness, this is _incredible_— How does Miss Device even _have_ _this_? Oh, Crowley, I ought to ask her if she’d allow me to read it— If she says yes, can we stay? Please?”

Ezra was too excited to even notice how Crowley’s expression slowly fell. Too busy reverently turning the pages around, eyes already scanning feverishly.

“I— Yes. Yes, of course we can,” Crowley replied, something heavy in his voice. That was also lost on Ezra. “Whatever— Whatever you want to do, Ezra, we’ll… We’ll do it.”

They got back into the car. There was very little distance, in there, when they sat side by side, but in that moment it was like there was an endless abyss separating them.

Crowley’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, as he silently drove them back to the cottage.


	5. The tower

Chapter 5: The Tower

Anathema had known that something was— Not quite right with the two men that introduced themselves as Ezra Fell and Anthony Crowley —_the latter, forcefully introduced by the former_— the moment she met them.

Of course one might scoff and reply ‘_Duh? They almost killed you!_’, but that wasn’t it. As much as the way she meant ‘_not being quite right_’ as not necessarily a bad thing.

There was certainly a strange air around them. Their auras seemed to hide something, and there was a connection, there, a thread tying the two to one another that couldn’t be seen by the naked eye, that spoke of something deeper than— Most things. Deeper than affection, love, fondness and devotion. A next step, something above the common meanings connected to those words. Like the two had lived a hundred lives side by side, and weren’t yet tiring of it, ready to live a hundred more.

That’s why, when they got into the cottage after Adam kindly opened the door for her once more, she found herself speechless. The two hadn’t been away even half an hour, and yet the moment she saw them, she could tell that something must’ve happened. Something severe. Something not even the two of them might have realized. Like a crack had appeared in that thread keeping them latched to one another, a small crack, that promised to become much bigger at the drop of a hat.

She was dragged out of her concerned musings by a very excited looking Mr. Fell, who pretty much descended on her like a hawk, holding Agnes’ book in front of him with a smile that went from ear to ear and an eager look in his eyes.

“Here’s your book, Miss Device!” he said, voice almost trembling with barely kept control. “I was— Extremely surprised to notice the title. I— Well, I am quite the dedicated book collector, you see, and for years I’ve heard so much about this book, but I never dared even _hoping_ that— Well, Miss Device, I’m well aware we haven’t met in the best of circumstances, but I have a huge favor to ask of you: Would you allow me to read it? It would be such an _honor_, dear girl, if you can even imagine—“

It all came out in a rushed, almost garbled sentence. Anathema blinked, Adam blinked, and Dog sniffed the air. Behind Mr. Fell’s shoulders, Mr. Crowley stood with what looked like silent dejection.

“Wow. You really like books,” Adam declared with earnest surprise, finally breaking the silence.

“Oh, I do. I do indeed, my dear boy,” Mr. Fell replied, his excitement still obvious, even if his speech slowed down a bit. “There’s— Books are very powerful objects, young man. They can make or break empires, bring tyrants to their knees. They can make those who have been knocked down rise back up. I— There are very few things that I cherish more than books. I do firmly believe the written word has been humanity’s best invention yet.”

Crowley, behind him, flinched. Adam smiled.

“That’s cool. I like you,” he said, with the simplicity only an eleven year old boy could possess. He turned toward Anathema. “I know they almost ran you over, but they seem like good people. You sure I shouldn’t talk to them?”

Anathema huffed a small laugh. “I was mostly joking. _Mostly_,” she replied, eliciting a little chuckle out of Adam. She turned toward Mr. Fell. “Yes, you can read it. I don’t mind.”

“_Oh_—“ Mr. Fell exhaled, almost melting. “Oh, dear— That is— Thank you _so much_—“

He hugged the book to his chest with so much reverence it was almost adorable. It made quite the stark contrast with the dark figure still standing some feet away from him, hands in his pockets and shoulders slumped, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

“There’s a couch in the living room. Or a table, if you prefer,” Anathema said, smiling to herself. “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Fell. In the meantime can I borrow Mr. Crowley? I’d like to speak about my bike.”

At that, Mr. Crowley did a small sort of double take. Mr. Fell gave a distracted hum, making a drunken beeline for the living room, clearly only having heard about a quarter of the words she said. Adam scuffed his foot on the wooden floor.

“I think I have to get home, now, Anathema,” he said, as if sensing the sudden, small tenseness that rose in the room. “Thank you for the New Aquariums!”

“No problem, Adam, have fun!” she replied, smiling as the boy went out with his adorable little dog, a stack of old New Aquariums issues under his arm. “Now, where were we?” she added, turning right back to Mr. Crowley when the door closed.

“Huuuuh—“ he replied, smartly.

She didn’t wait for him to be actually able to string a sentence together, nodding toward the door. He followed, a little frown etched on his face. They stopped right by the entrance, near the perfectly intact bike that was still sitting against the wall and under the window.

“How did you do this,” she demanded, more than ask, pointing at it. “It wasn’t just the chain, Mr. Crowley. I know it wasn’t. The entire thing was busted to hell and back.”

A moment of silence followed. Anathema could see his eyes dart between the bike and herself even from behind the dark lenses of his stupid sunglasses.

“As I said, it was just the chain,” he then declared, flat. “You were probably a bit confused after hitting your head, last night.”

“Nice excuse, but I sent a picture to my mother, to show her what my ‘hitting you’ did to my poor bike,” Anathema promptly snapped, hands on her hips. “You did something, and I’d like to know _what_.”

Mr. Crowley sniffed, nose curling. “What do you think I could’ve possibly done? It was just the chain,” he repeated, stubborn. “That’s how I found it earlier, when I went to check. Maybe it was repaired overnight by some _fairies,_ or some other bollock. Girls like you believe in that stuff, right?”

Anathema squinted, mouth thinning. “_Girls like me?_”

“Oh, I saw that stack of gibberish you gave to that poor boy, don’t think I haven’t.”

“_Excuse me_— Listen here, buddy—“

“I’m not your buddy, _mate_,” he interrupted, growling back through gritted teeth. He was subtly looming over her, a disquieting feeling rising around him.

At least he stopped looking utterly miserable.

“Crowley, dear!” An almost suffocatingly sunny voice interjected from the window. Mr. Fell seemed to be utterly blind to the fact they were currently glaring at one another, as he leaned out with his cheeks pink in excitement. “You have to come in and see this! It’s _amazing_!”

“Comin’!” Mr. Crowley called out, not a note of menace left in his voice, and then turned back to Anathema to launch one last glare, before stalking back in _her_ house like he owned the place.

Anathema followed with a little sigh. She indeed stumbled into two very— Interesting people. She couldn’t recall Agnes ever speaking of them, but she guessed their presence wouldn’t change much. And Mr. Fell seemed like a very kind person.

When she walked by the living room, directed to the kitchen, the two of them were sitting at her table. Mr. Fell was speaking animatedly, hands gesturing wildly in the air, and a light of absolute joy was painted all over him, making him almost _glow_. Mr. Crowley was silent, instead, leaning in toward Mr. Fell like a sunflower desperate for some warmth, a hand resting under his chin, eyes pointed at him with unmoving intensity.

He exuded just as much adoration as Mr. Fell seemed to be pouring on Agnes’ book.

Well. That certainly explained some things.

—

Ezra was utterly, delightfully lost.

He couldn’t help it. Having the honor of partaking into what was, no doubt, the only existing copy of The Nice And Accurate Prophecies Of Agnes Nutter was more than he ever dreamed of being able to do. And the thing had almost literally dropped itself in his lap, for goodness’ sake!

The hours went by so fast, as he poured over the book. He’d exclaim in surprise almost every three minutes, as he put together the meaning hidden behind Agnes’ ancient style of writing, and realized that the prophecies were, indeed, true.

All of them. _All of them._

At some point during the day, Crowley had forcefully pushed a sandwich in his hand, and Ezra had eaten it without even realizing. An unconscious reflex of his body demanding fuel. He had no idea from where the sandwich came from, he didn’t even try to wonder if he should be thinking about the sandwich, he was simply too busy taking in prophecy after prophecy.

He’d read aloud some of them, every now and then, and then give his interpretation. After the third time he did so, he distractedly heard Miss Device say:

“No… No one other than my family has ever been able to interpret the prophecies this quickly.”

She sounded faint. He also distractedly heard Crowley reply.

“He’s brilliant. He’s always been.”

He sounded proud. But those were superficial thoughts, realisations that barely skimmed the surface of his fixated mind. He just needed— He needed to _keep going_.

Ezra had seen many things one could consider ‘magical’, in his long life. He happened to be one of those things, with his inability to die. Then there had been a storm that unnaturally kept going, flooding lands in a way nature shouldn’t have been able to. Cities destroyed by fire raining from the sky. Crawly, who then became Crowley. Plagues rained upon a population, a sea parting. The man whi called himself the son of God, his soul ascending, visible to the naked eye.

Things had quieted, after that. He couldn’t really recall witnessing any other big happenings that defied the laws of logic, other than his and Crowley’s continued existence. He believed that the world, by advancing in a way, was losing something in another. And, as the centuries went by, he had sort of surrendered himself to the fact he might never find an answer. That, if there had ever been one, it had been lost along with the thing the world was losing.

He had, for how unwilling, to accept the fact he might never find out who he and Crowley were. _What_ they were.

But now… Now he was sitting in front of the proof that not all of that magic, that mystical, occult power was lost, yet. The proof that an answer might be found. It might be there.

For all he knew, an answer might be in the book he was _currently holding_.

And so he kept going, as both Crowley and Miss Device busied themselves around him. He kept going, and going, and _going_.

And then, the hope turned into dread.

“_Four cometh together and Four arise_,” he read, slowly, almost a whisper “_upon iron horses ride, I tell you the ende draweth nigh—_“

He let out a long, shaky breath, and for the first time in hours, he looked up from the book. His neck hurt, but he paid it no mind.

Miss Device was looking at him with the intent of someone who knew exactly how things were going to pan out. Ezra worked his throat.

“Miss Device, why— Why do these prophecies keep hinting at the end of the world?”

She nodded, as if satisfied by something. “Because it will happen. It’s happening,” she said, flat. “It will all play out tomorrow.”

In any other circumstances, Ezra would’ve laughed. Almost to the point of tears, probably. Maybe he would have then calmed down, and kindly suggested that, perhaps, they ought to call an ambulance, because clearly the poor girl had lost her marbles.

Except his fingers were currently delicately holding onto the cover of a well-loved book, that he’d been reading for hours, finding out that the prophecies were true from top to bottom.

The world was ending. Tomorrow.

_“Ezra… Do you think the world will ever end?”_

Ezra stopped breathing for three seconds, and then turned slowly. By the door, shoulders tense and mouth slightly open, a single drop of sweat rolling from his temple down his angular cheekbone, with the guilt of someone who was just caught in the biggest lie of all, Crowley stood.

—

“…I can’t find it.” Miss Device —Anathema, as she insisted he’d call her after successfully translating Agnes’ prophecies— was saying, showing him a map of Tadfield. “I know it’s here, Agnes has never been wrong. But I can’t pinpoint an accurate position. There must be some sort of— Energy, keeping the devil hidden.”

She sounded almost enthusiastic. Not that Ezra was properly translating the tone of her voice. He was still trying to process everything else.

Crowley had yet to say anything, other than guiltily trailing after them, making sure to keep a constant distance.

“I—“ Ezra croaked, trying to blink his sight back into focus. He looked over the map, just to have something to do, and then back to the book. “Wait,” he then said, softly, something clicking in his mind. He scrolled through the pages, as Anathema stared at him with an almost hopeful look.

“_Where the Hogg’s back ends the young beast will take the world—_“ He read aloud. “_And Adam’s line will end in fire and darkness—_ Wait—“ He snapped the book close, running a hand through his hair, making it stick in every direction even more. “Hogg— _Hogback lane_. We drove past it last night, I _saw_ it— The Adam this is talking about isn’t— It isn’t the Adam I knew—“

He missed the way Anathema confusedly muttered, “The Adam _you_ knew?”

“_The young beast— Adam_— Adam Young,” Ezra finished in a raw whisper. “It’s _Adam Young_—“

“…What?” Anathema had paled a little, when he turned toward her. “No— No, that can’t be— Adam— He’s such a sweet kid…”

But she trailed off, her eyes moving frantically behind her glasses, a hand slowly rising to her mouth.

“_Holy shit_.”

It wasn’t her that spoke. They both turned, and by the door Crowley stood, pulling at his hair with both hands. He let out a brief, downright hysterical laugh.

“Why didn’t I speak to you about this sooner?” he whimpered, broken, joyless mirth in his voice. “Shit. I should’ve known you’d figure it out, you _bright bastard_. Now I can— I can _stop this_—“

He bolted for the door. It was testimony of Ezra’s absolute dedication to books, that he didn’t simply drop Agnes’ but instead rushed to put it on the nearest surface, before running after Crowley.

“_Crowley!_” he almost screamed, as the dark figure disappeared behind the wall of the cottage. “Wait!”

“No time, Ezra! The clock is ticking!” Crowley bellowed back, something unhinged in his voice. Ezra managed to run out and circle the Bentley just in time, putting himself between the door and Crowley, not allowing him to slam it shut with a palm on the metal.

“Ezra!” Crowley snapped, frantic. “Get off! I have to do this before it’s too late!”

“You knew about this—“ Ezra replied, voice trembly. “You knew— You somehow knew, and you didn’t tell me!”

“I’m serious, darling, there’s no time—“ Crowley’s voice had taken a turn for the desperate, now, as he took off his glasses. The light in his yellow eyes was beyond desperation. It was terror, and panic, and something warm that Ezra’s increasingly furious mind refused to accept.

“What exactly are you planning to do, to stop the bloody end of the bloody world?!” Ezra bellowed, pushing the door of the Bentley open some more, against Crowley’s grip that was trying to pull.

“I—“ Crowley gaped, pupils moving about. “I— I’d never want to, but— If necessary I’ll— Take him out.” He finished, pained. “No Antichrist, no armageddon, right?”

“_What_?!”

“Ezra, _please_—“

“If I may—“ A delicate, but stubborn voice interrupted. “There’s a better way to stop the apocalypse, than child murder.”

They turned. Anathema had reached them, at some point, standing with her arms crossed.

“Lady, look, very grateful for your help, I’ve been scratching my head about where the Antichrist had ended up for the last week—“ Crowley snapped, exasperated. “But, with all due respect, I doubt you could—“

“Not me— Well, not just me. Not alone,” she said firmly. “We will have allies. We will save the world, without spilling anyone’s blood.”

Silence fell, only interrupted by the singing of bugs. Crowley’s eyes bounced between the two of them (if Anathema was unsettled by the serpentine gaze, she did not show it), before fixing on Ezra.

“Ezra—“ he simply said, and the question in the air was clear, as if someone was physically sculpting it in a block of marble.

_Do you trust me, or her?_

Ezra took a deep breath. His face was a controlled mask, as it usually happened when Ezra was very, truly, absolutely _pissed off_.

“Get off the car, Crowley,” he replied, glacial.

Crowley let out a small noise, like a mouse being stepped on, but he complied, shoulders slumped. He put his glasses back on, as he followed the two inside the cottage.

—

Anathema felt a bit guilty, as her two new —unexpected, unwilling maybe— allies followed her back inside. She couldn’t have possibly foreseen this turn of events, so she logically knew she had no real responsibility in this—

But the tiny crack in the thread had grown just a bit bigger.

—

“Ezra… You should sleep.”

The voice was tiny, like Crowley was fearful at the mere idea of speaking up. Which he should be, because Ezra turned and levelled such a cold, almost disgusted look at him to make him flinch harder than if he had been stabbed.

“I can’t,” Ezra replied, flatter than a windless ocean.

They hadn’t spoken much, once back inside the cottage. Or at all. Ezra and Anathema got right back to the book, pouring over it together, Anathema sharing the interpretations her family made, explaining how she thought things were going to pan out, hatching a plan of action. She asked them to leave at some point in the night, when there was nothing they could’ve possibly added to their already precise plan, and because she had some ’_things to do that require a certain amount of privacy,_’ the day to follow. Ezra hadn’t protested. They went back to their room at the hotel in a dreadful silence, and Crowley hadn’t drove his Bentley quite this consciously and respectful of road rules since— Well, ever. He’d been driving the thing like a maniac from day one.

First time for everything, he humourlessly figured.

Once at the hotel Ezra had closed himself in the bathroom and took a forty minutes long shower, re-emerging in his pajamas and sliding into bed, his back pointedly shown toward Crowley’s side of the room. But two hours had passed since the lights went out, and Crowley knew by the lack of a deep, soft, regular breathing that Ezra was fully awake.

“I’m serious,” Crowley tried to say again, subdued, slowly sitting on his bed. “You need to rest.”

“I’d love to, but I highly doubt any resting will happen tonight,” Ezra replied, just a hint of cold sarcasm in his dull tone.”Even if I felt like sleeping, I’d probably rather stay up, make sure you won’t go around murdering children.”

Crowley flinched again. They ought to give him a cup for ‘most flinching done in a single day since the start of humanity’.

“Ezra, look, it was a stupid idea, I know, but— I was really desperate. I wouldn’t ever do that, not really—“

“Wouldn’t you? I’d have thought you’d also never keep something this big from me, but it seems like we are all full of surprises, today.” The sarcasm was coming on much thicker, now. “Pray tell, is there anything else you ought to tell me, _Anthony_?”

Flinch number… Lost count, really, happened. “…There are. Things,” Crowley admitted, slowly, and he heard the huff Ezra let out through his nose, like an angry bull. “I will— I will tell you, ok? I promise. But— I don’t think now is the right moment.”

“Is it not? The world might end tomorrow. I think not a single moment in the history of moments has ever been more right than this one.”

“Do you think it will really happen? I thought you trusted book-girl.”

The tone came out somewhat reproachful. A rustle of linens being thrown on a side resounded in the room.

“You— _Shut up_. You don’t get to say things like that, not after— Everything,” Ezra growled through his teeth. And for the first time since thousand of years, Crowley felt a genuine squirm of terror in his insides. But not regarding the situation as a whole.

He was fearing Ezra.

“Are you going to tell me whatever bloody else you need to, or not?” Ezra demanded, still sounding dangerous.

“Ezra, I— I will, but not now. I can’t do it now—“ Crowley replied, tone faltering. “You are too angry. It would only— Mess things up further.”

“Very well. And, for the record— I have no idea from where that came from, but if you call me ‘_darling_’ again when I’m this angry, I _will_ punch you.”

Icebergs would’ve felt less cold. Crowley caught a glimpse of Ezra’s profile against the golden light pouring from the corridor as he went outside, slamming the door behind himself.

—

The Last Day Of The World did not start pleasantly, for Ezra. First of all, he woke up with such a crick in the neck, after napping for two meager hours in one of the armchairs sitting by the tiny hotel lobby. He spent most of the night there, simmering in his rage, until tiredness caught up to him, and he fell asleep with his head uncomfortably tilted against the backrest. So, that was enough to make even a saint grumpy. Then he had been approached by an uncharacteristically meek Crowley, clearly attempting to hand him a little olive branch by gently reminding Ezra he ought to eat something, since they skipped dinner the night prior, which made him realize he was still utterly incensed. He still followed Crowley’s suggestion, because he was no idiot and he knew he needed the strength to deal with this day, immortal or not.

Not to mention this might truly be his last meal.

But once he sat down, pointedly ignoring Crowley, who was for all intents and purposes looking like a kicked puppy, he found that eating was extremely difficult. He was simply too tense, too nervous, too furious to even think about food. He still forced something down, but it only made him feel slightly nauseous.

Then they were forced to wait, as Anathema had told them, because there was an insane storm outside, and it wasn’t quite yet time to move. And Crowley kept hovering behind him like a concerned shadow, and it took whatever tiny ounce of patience Ezra was still holding onto to not to scream at him.

There was also the fact that part of him definitely wanted to be with Crowley, if those were to be their last hours on Earth. Sadly, that part was mostly bullied into the darkest corner of his mind.

When it finally came time to move and meet up with Anathema, Ezra’s mood had shifted from furious displeasure to a quiet, sad sort of acceptance. Crowley must’ve perceived it, because as they slowly drove to the place they were going to meet Anathema, he softly piped up.

“Ezra. I’m sorry.”

“…I know you are,” Ezra conceded, tiredly.

“I— I really am. I should’ve told you— About this. About everything—“ He could see Crowley work his throat out of the corner of his eye. “I should’ve told you so many things, and now we might be out of time. I’m sorry.”

“We— We won’t be,” Ezra tried to comfort him, if roughly. There was something— Delicate, in Crowley’s voice. “We won’t be out of time. And— Once this is all over, we will talk. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Crowley did not hesitate, even if he spoke so very softly. “I promise.”

A vaguely more relaxed silence draped on them like a blanket, and then Crowley released a small, huffy, mirthless laugh.

“The boy— He seemed to like you, did he not? I hope it’ll count for something.”

“What do you mean?” Ezra asked, tilting his head just vaguely. Crowley seemed to take a moment to gather his words, before continuing.

“The way he is— The way his powers work— He can do anything, Ezra,” he said slowly. “Literally anything. If he were to say ‘the sky is purple’, the sky would turn purple. He can control reality as he pleases.”

Ezra gaped for a second, before replying, strangled. “He— Can do that?”

“A-yup!” Crowley said with fake cheer. “He can make anything he wants real. I hope…” He hesitated, before continuing in a more subdued manner, “I hope that— Having someone he seemed to like there will convince him the world is worth saving. I really do.”

“I— See,” Ezra carefully murmured, even though he was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of a child capable of bending reality to his will, and thus did not really ‘see it’ in the slightest. “Let’s— Hope that is the case, then.”

They did not add anything for the rest of the ride, and by the time they got off the Bentley there was much less tenseness between them. They walked up toward the fence, noticing—

“Hello, um—?” Ezra hesitated in front of the terrified nod the young man by Anathema’s side launched at them. He looked as lanky as much as he looked like the sort of bloke who wore a ‘permanently alarmed’ expression on his face. Which he was doing right at that moment.

“This is Newt. Newt, Ezra and Anthony,” Anathema said, practical, pointing at the both of them. “Now, let’s go save the world.”

“This… This is the ‘allies’ you spoke of yesterday?!” Crowley interjected, strangled. “Oh. Fuck. _Ezra_—“

“…It will be fine, dear,” Ezra replied, as Anathema made a beeline toward a hole in the fence opened by a fallen branch. He sounded hardly convincing even to himself, but he still followed after the young woman and terrified man, Crowley trailing after him.

It proved to be hardly a challenge, infiltrating the air-base. Anathema led them directly to a hangar, and they watched from behind a corner a group of— Rather quirky people exit out of it.

“What’s up with those guys, is it ‘_Power Ranger parody’_ day?” Crowley muttered under his breath, half-way between sarcastic and incredulous. Ezra elbowed him with a huff.

“Oh— Oh, I think I know why you guys are here, now,” Anathema said, breathless. They’d spoken about that, the prior day, which roles could Ezra and Crowley possibly have in the whole ordeal. She had been determined that their meeting hadn’t been coincidental, even if there was no mention of either of them in Agnes’ book. “Adam and his friends are behind there— They will face down those guys, but they are just kids! I think you two have to go help them out, while me and Newt take care of the rest.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ezra agreed softly, since he arguably had no idea what they should be doing. “Let’s go, dear—“ He added, grabbing Crowley’s wrist blindly. Crowley followed, not a word.

When they came into vision of the little group everything felt surreal. There he was, Adam, nothing but a kid with friends his age, and a small dog, facing down the menacingly group of bikers. When they rushed from behind the hangar, Adam blinked at them.

“Hullo Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley,” he said, as if they were casually meeting in Tadfield’s central street, rather than the tarmac of an airbase, the world on the brink of its end.

“Hello, Adam—“ Ezra replied, because if he was anything, it was polite. “I, um— We were wondering if you guys might need some help?”

Adam was staring at him with a strange intent, his group of friends curiously peering at them. The group of bikers turned as well, and Ezra noticed there was something definitely not— Human, to them.

“Oh, _shit_,” Crowley whispered softly, behind him.

“Well—“ One of the bikers interjected, with a deep voice. He was wearing a hooded cape, for some reason, and then as he turned to face them fully Ezra’s blood froze in his veins.

There was no man, under the hood, but a skeleton, shadows cast over the curves of his bone-y face.

“How interesting,” the skeleton said, sounding amused. “This is a surprise, truly. I would’ve never expected to see _you_ here.”

It took Ezra three seconds, to realize he was talking directly to him. And then the skeleton moved, almost teleporting in front of them in an instant.

“_Hey_!” Crowley protested, pulling Ezra back. But then he let out a choked noise, and the weight of his hand disappeared from Ezra’s shoulder.

“Quiet, now, Demon.” The skeleton said. Ezra frowned. ‘_Demon_?’ “Let us speak. I have, after all, known him for a long time.”

“…Me?” Ezra replied, slowly.

“Yes. You—“ Skeletal fingers rose to grab Ezra’s chin with surprising strength. “The one that keeps escaping me.”

“Sta— Stay away from him—“ Crowley coughed from behind. But Ezra couldn’t turn, to find out what had Crowley so choked up. He suddenly felt sluggish, almost enraptured, as he looked up the empty, dark sockets on the skeleton’s face.

“I don’t—“ Ezra tried to murmur, confused.

“Oh, my friend, this situation is hardly your fault, I can tell. I am not quite sure what happened to you— But I’ve come for you every single time. And I could feel it, every single time… How much you wished to be finally rid of this curse. To know peace.”

The air seemed to go cold. Ezra stepped back, freeing himself from the clutch of those icy fingers.

“No, I—“

“No need to lie to me. I’ve been there every single time, after all. Every time that was accidental and— Those that weren’t,” the skeleton replied softly. “You could never hear me. There was a wall between us. But now— It is quite a pleasing surprise, being finally able to speak, Aziraphale.”

Ezra’s head hurt, and he shook it. There was no time for— Whatever this was. There was a world to save, and kids to protect. He took another step back.

“That is _not_ my name.” He snapped, something dangerous in the depths of his voice. He turned away. Crowley was on one knee, a hand on his throat and wide yellow eyes pointed up at him. His mouth was slightly open.

“Crowley, what’s going on?!” Ezra asked, eyes moving feverishly as he fought the need to look back at the skeleton. “Why did he call you Demon? Why— Oh, bloody hell, who are _you_?” He added, giving in to the need and facing the skeleton once more.

“I am Death, my friend. I’m sure you know that already,” Death replied, almost pacifistic. “It will all be over soon, and then we’ll take care of— Your little issue, don’t you worry. I will set you free—“

“Oh, please, spare me,” Ezra snapped, grabbing Crowley’s shoulder to jerk him back up on his feet. “Buncha’ bollocks—“ he continued for good measure in a low mutter. He made a point of side stepping Death, dragging Crowley along, directed toward Adam.

“Sorry about that, Adam, are you and your friends alright?” he asked, kindly. Adam was still staring at him with an extremely focused gaze. At his side, Crowley gently shook himself free, clearing his throat.

“Ok, huh, this is awkward, but well— We are here to help, I guess?” He said, sounding mostly confused. The rest of the bikers released a simultaneous little chuckle. “Oh, fuck off, you guys,” Crowley snapped back, louder.

“Mr. Fell—“ Adam suddenly replied, slowly. “What— _What are you_?”

Ezra froze. Crowley froze.

“…What?”

“You— I couldn’t see it, yesterday, but—“ Adam murmured, squinting. “You are— You are not— Anything.”

“Dear boy, what—“

Adam took a step forward. “But— You have to be _something_.” He said, firm. “You can’t be— _This_. I— I need to understand—“

Adam’s hand touched Ezra’s. And Ezra fell.

—

_The floor was white, the ceiling was white, everything was white._

_The Angel with white air walked with intent, wings vaguely spread out, but they all could feel the terror in him. He stopped in the center of the room._

_“Aziraphale, future Principality and guardian of the Eastern Gate—“ One of the three Angels sitting on a patio stood, curly brown hair on top of their head, and said with a strong voice. “You’ve been brought in front of this court for the crime of treachery—“_

_“What?!” The Angel that wasn’t Ezra, but was Aziraphale, exhaled, aghast. “No! I’ve never—“_

_“Conspiration—“_

_“No! Please, listen!”_

_“—And attempting to elevate yourself over Her Will. What do you have to say?”_

_“I’ve never done any of those things!” Aziraphale screamed, stunned. “I would’ve never— _ ** _Never_ ** _! All I wanted to do was to help! And I succeeded!”_

_A murmur broke into the crowd. Another Angel on the patio stood._

_“What are you talking about?” they demanded, purple eyes blazing._

_“I found a way to bring them back! All our brothers and sisters!” Aziraphale cried, with a wide arm gesture. “There’s no need— No need to fight them at any point! We can help them, instead! We can help the Fallen!”_

_The murmuring ceased at once, until someone yelled, “Preposterous!”_

_“It’s true!” Aziraphale replied, voice firmer. “Aren’t we made to love? Aren’t we supposed to love the Fallen, as well? They were Angels, like us! We can bring them back! It’s— Really quite easy, all we have to do is—”_

_“Silence! SILENCE!” The third Angel on the patio stood, golden under their eyes. “The Fallen are unforgivable!”_

_“But they don’t have to be!” Aziraphale reasoned, clearly exasperated. “Wouldn’t the Almighty forgive them, if they were given a chance? Isn’t She made of love, too?”_

_“You dare—“ The Angel with the purple eyes hissed, furious. “You—“_

_Aziraphale stood, feet firmly planted down, shoulders squared, wings half-spread._

_“I refute the accusations levelled at me,” he declared, voice trembling only slightly. “All I’ve done, I’ve done for love. I will not deny my actions, but they are not to be considered a crime.”_

_The three angels on the patio collected close to one another, clearly whispering. The crowd was silent. Aziraphale kept standing, chin up._

_Forever seemed to go by, and yet felt like the blink of an eye. The three Angels stepped forward on the patio._

_“Aziraphale…” the one that spoke first started, slow. “For your crimes, you will be punished—“_

_“What…?!”_

_“Not an Angel. Not a Fallen,” they continued, as if they didn’t hear his desperate exhale. “Not a mortal. You will live on in the middle, not knowing of Her light anymore, and atone for the rest of all times. That is your punishment.”_

_“What— No—“ Aziraphale murmured, gray eyes filling with tears. “No, please— You aren’t listening—“_

_The Angel with the purple eyes snapped their fingers, and Aziraphale released a choked scream of pain, as his wings disappeared in an explosion of feathers, and chains appeared around his wrists._

_“No, please!” he yelled, the chains pulling him down “You can’t— MOTHER, _ ** _PLEASE_ ** _!”_

_With a deafening crash of broken glass, Aziraphale sunk in the floor, never to be seen in Heaven again._

_The man with no name woke up in the desert._

_He did not know who he was. He knew other things. Like the fact that he needed food, and water._

_He walked, but all there was was sand, and he died under the sun. When he came back, water was falling from the sky, and he tipped his head up to desperately drink._

_He walked until he saw something that wasn’t sand. Hopelessly hungry he fed himself with some bright berries, and died a few hours later, rolled in on himself with a grimace of pain._

_He kept on moving, and learned. What was safe to eat, what wasn’t, when he could drink and when he couldn’t. From every death he came back, less confused, more hardened._

_He saw others like him in the distance. He got closer._

_“Who are you?” the woman he instantly knew was a woman asked, her belly round._

_“I don’t know,” he replied, sincere._

_“I will give you a name, then,” she said, smiling, her gentle fingers on his cheek. “You will be… Ezra.”_

_He stayed. _

_He ventured into a den of venomous snakes to collect the deer Adam had wounded, and Adam did not follow._

_“Ezra, you will die,” he said._

_“I will. But then I will come back.” Ezra replied. “Haven’t you died, yet?”_

_“No. If me or Eve will die we— We will not come back.”_

_“Oh,” Ezra replied, confusedly accepting it._

_He stayed. He saw life being brought onto earth and grow. He left, when the younger of them died, and the pain was too much to bear._

_He came back when Adam and Eve had white hair, and he hadn’t changed at all. He buried them._

“Get out,” Ezra said, _but the other Ezra did not hear him._

_He walked between people, the world shifted around him. Humans were born, humans grew old, humans died._

_Ezra did not grow old. He never died. His body was barren, nothing would be born out of him. Countries changed and mountains crumbled, and he kept living on._

_He met a person with red hair and yellow eyes, and he felt something for the first time in centuries. But he didn’t had the chance to ask, before they all drowned. When he came back, the person with red hair wasn’t there anymore._

“Stop it. Get out.”

_He kept going. The person with the red hair touched him. Those golden eyes were so amazing, so beautiful—_

_It had been hundreds of years since they last met. The person with the red hair was the same. And knew who Ezra was._

_The person with the red hair also couldn’t die._

** _Someone like me, someone like me, I’m not alone, I’m not alone, I’m not alone—_ **

“Please, stop— Get out. GET OUT!“

_The person with the red hair left him, and Ezra’s heart broke. He died with tears in his eyes, desperately begging to never come back—_

“GET OUT OF MY _FUCKING_ HEAD!”

The tarmac was harsh and unforgiving under Ezra’s knees, as he panted heavily with his forehead touching the ground, hands over his ears and tears in his eyes.

“…Oh.” Adam said, faintly.

Ezra let out a sob, when gentle fingers landed on his shoulders, indecisive, but rapidly growing confident as they ran slow circles on his back.

“It’s ok, Ezra, it’s ok—“ Crowley murmured, voice trembling. “Breathe. Breathe—”

“What—“ Ezra sobbed around the knot in his throat. Crowley pulled at his shoulders, helping him back up on his feet. “What was _that_—?”

“That was an answer,” Crowley murmured, his tone shifting into something quivering. “You— You were an _Angel_.”

Ezra whipped around, eyes huge. Crowley was looking at him with an expression of pure wonder on his face.

“You— Saw that? It wasn’t a hallucination?”

“No— Ezra, it wasn’t. Those were— _Memories_. We— Um. We all saw them.”

“Sorry,” Adam interjected with a tiny voice.

“Wait—“ Ezra choked out, angrily wiping his eyes. “Wait. Wait— That— That was real? I was an _Angel_?”

“Yes, Ezra,” Crowley murmured, gentle.

“Angels are real?! Wait—“ He frantically looked around, only barely noticing the curious and vaguely impatient eyes of the bikers staring at him. “Wait— You are a _Demon_?!” He snapped, whipping toward Crowley. The wonder on Crowley’s face slid away like oil.

“I— Um. Yeah—“ He said, after releasing some inarticulate noise. “That was one of— The things I wanted to tell you. But, yeah, um, cat’s outta the bag so, huh— Yes, I’m a Demon. A— Agent of Hell stationed on Earth, if you will— _Huh_—”

Something was mounting inside Ezra, something dark and terrible and very much nowhere near angelic.

“_You_—“

“Oh—“ Crowley exhaled, taking a step back and holding his hands up. “Ezra— Take a deep breath. I know this must’ve been a big shock, for you—“

“Did you know what I was?” Ezra growled through gritted teeth, taking a step forward for every step back Crowley took. “_Did you?!_”

“_Jesus_— No, Ezra, I didn’t—” Crowley rushed to reply. “I swear, Ezra, I had no idea! If I had known I would’ve told you!”

“WOULD YOU?!” Ezra all but screamed, the rage pouring out in words like lava. “WAS ANYTHING OF WHAT YOU EVER SAID TO ME TRUE?!”

“Ezra— _Darling_—“

The crunching sound of a broken nose reverberated through the air-base like a gun being fired. Crowley crumbled down in a pathetical heap as he instinctively went to hold his now copiously bleeding nose with a whimper.

“Oh, that must’ve hurt,” one of Adam’s friends said, grimacing sympathetically.

Ezra did not hear him. He’d already ran too far away.


	6. The fool

Chapter 6: The Fool

He was pathetic, was what he was.

He sniffed around another sob, new tears collecting in his eyes. He’d been walking for— He didn’t know for low long.

He ran out of the air-base, through the open fence. Tears ran down his cheeks as he glared at the Bentley, and gave it a good kick, feeling bad about it right away. He turned, and walked.

And kept walking.

The tears simply wouldn’t stop. His mind was in disarray, like someone threw a can of alphabet soup on the floor, stomped on it for good measure, and then asked him to compose a poem with what was left. He had no idea how and where to even start to untangle the mess of emotions storming inside him. All he knew was that he was enraged, and betrayed, and grieving, and feeling generally, desperately miserable.

He’d left behind the end of the fucking world. He couldn’t care. If it had to happen, so be it.

But nothing happened. It must’ve been quite a while since he left the air-base, because the sun was currently starting to lower itself toward the horizon, rather rapidly.

So, he supposed as he sat down under a tree, feet protesting in pain, the world did not end, after all. Big fucking whoop.

Ezra dried his tears with a sleeve, angrily, and sniffed loudly. He wanted to scream. Maybe he should’ve. Should’ve screamed at the sky all the way there. Maybe that would’ve helped, somehow.

His knuckles still felt faintly sore, after the punch he landed on Crowley’s nose. But it was nothing compared to the sting in his chest at the mere thought of Crowley.

He resolved not to think of Crowley. But he wasn’t being very successful about it.

He let his head fall back against the bark of the tree, closing his burning eyes. He was so tired he felt like he might fall asleep right then and there—

“Mr. Fell?”

“_Jesus_—!” Ezra scrambled on his feet, before releasing a groan. “Adam. Um. Hi.”

Adam looked contrite. He scuffled his foot against the ground, indecisive.

“Mr. Fell, I— I’m sorry I looked into you head like that. I shouldn’t have.”

Ezra blinked, before releasing a little, trembly sigh. “No. No you shouldn’t have. But— It’s alright, young man. I know you didn’t do that on purpose. And—“ he worked his throat. “I’d imagine you did me a favor of sorts. I’ve been wondering for an awful long time, about— About what I am.”

“You’re still kind of— Not a thing,” Adam replied, slowly. “Maybe— I could— Make you an Angel again? If you wanted?”

Ezra took some seconds, pondering. He only saw a glimpse of who he was— Of Aziraphale.

He looked terrified. The place he came from looked terrifying.

“…No. Thank you for the offer, Adam, but— I think I am fine with who I am.”

Adam nodded, biting on his lower lip nervously. Ezra looked at him silently.

“Is something the matter, dear boy?”

“it’s— Well. I know you are very angry, but— I think Mr. Crowley is in trouble,” he muttered, scuffling his foot some more. “Real trouble— These people that popped out of the ground dragged him down and he looked— Very scared. I thought— You had to know.”

Ezra blinked. And he wanted to be furious, he _was_ furious.

But most of all, his heart skipped multiple beats at the pure, unadulterated worry that clutched at his insides like icy claws.

“W-What?”

“I think they were— Other Demons? But bad ones, not cool ones like Mr. Crowley. I think they are going to hurt him.”

Ezra’s heart was beating again, and rather quickly, at that, having moved from his chest up to his throat.

“What happened?!”

“Well, um, my friends made those bad guys disappear, right? And then a couple of strange people arrived to try and convince me to make the world end, because the Angels and Demons want to fight to decide which group is better, or something— And I told them no. I like the world as it is, right? And they got all angry, and called my father— Not my real one, the one from Hell, or something, and Mr. Crowley told me I could tell him off— That I didn’t had to do anything he told me— So I told this father from Hell that I wasn’t going to make the world end, and he went away all angry. And— And then the bad Demons appeared and took Mr. Crowley away.”

Ezra fell back down, sitting under the tree. His head was spinning.

“Alright—“ he murmured, more to himself than to Adam. “Alright. Alright— So, it makes sense that there are other Demons, if the whole thing is real— There’s a Hell— And a Heaven— _Angels and Demons, sure_— So, they wanted to fight, but couldn’t without the end of the world? So— Oh, blimey—“ all the right pieces clicked into place, and Ezra paled violently. “Oh— Oh, Crowley was— Actively working to stop this. He’s— They must consider him a _traitor_— Oh, no, no no _no_—“

Adam looked at him with a little worried frown, as he rose back on his feet, pacing nervously.

“Oh, this sounds awful— _Demons_! Who even knows what they could possibly do to each other? Oh, no— Crowley— I need to do something, but what—“

“I hardly think there’s anything you can do, Aziraphale.”

Ezra jumped, turning on his heels. There stood Death, between the trees, not wearing a biker outfit under his cape anymore.

“What do you want?” Ezra snarled, stepping protectively in front of Adam. “Haven’t you got some souls to reap, or something?”

“I’m no rush, my friend. I’m here with a proposition.”

Adam’s hand closed around his. Ezra gulped.

“Which is?”

“I’ve felt your suffering, Aziraphale. With each and every death, the source of your very being begged for freedom. That source is still there, hoping to stop this agony,” Death said, pacing slowly, black feathers hovering behind him. “I could— Help. What they’ve done to you was nothing but a botched job. They panicked, wanting to hide you under a rug like you never existed. Wanting to make it so you’d never be able to share your discovery with anyone.”

Ezra snorted. “I’d dare say they’ve succeeded.”

“Perhaps,” Death conceded. “Still, no finesse. They’ve severed your soul, and put it back together all wrong. But I can solve that. All you have to do is renounce yourself, and I’ll make you whole, set you free.”

There was something— Gently hopeful in Death’s voice. And, Ezra knew, had they been in different circumstances?

He might’ve said yes.

But they weren’t in different circumstances, and Ezra was pissed enough to survive on pure spite for the next one thousand years _at least_.

“You know what I think? I think you are just sore because the world hasn’t ended as you wanted, and you’ve come here hoping to get a little consolation prize, like a dog begging for scraps.”

Death did not reply immediately. Nothing could transpire on his impassive skull face, but when he spoke, his voice was half-way between irritation and admiration.

“I can see now why they’d wanted to get rid of you, Aziraphale.”

“I’m not _Aziraphale_. I’m Ezra. Get it into that thick skull,” Ezra snapped. “And _get lost_. I have no business with you.”

“Not even knowing your beloved Crowley is soon to be annihilated? You’ve heard the boy,” Death said, nodding at Adam. “They’ve taken him. His life is on the clock. Do you truly wish to keep living in a world without him?”

Ezra froze. What Adam said had been— Grim enough.

But to hear Death itself say those words?

Ezra’s blood _froze_.

_Even if I find a way to help Crowley— Those Demons would come back for him over and over, wouldn’t they? What could I possibly— No. Think, you thick knob_, he insulted himself frantically, as the few instant of silence seemed to slow time itself, _think! There must be _**_something_**_ you can do!_

Adam’s hand squeezed his. A light went off in Ezra’s head.

“…Let’s bet.”

“What?” Death replied, clearly surprised.

“I have a bet for you. Or a bargain, if you please. I will— Renounce myself, and allow you to reap my life, if I don’t manage to save Crowley—“

Death chuckled. “And if you do?”

“If I do— You don’t get me. And you will make sure no one, _no one_, neither Angel nor Demon will _ever_ hurt Crowley, in the future. You won’t get him, either,” he offered his free hand, extending it forward. “Deal?”

One of Death’s wings twitched, as he tapped his ‘chin’ with a skeletal finger.

_C’mon— _Ezra silently begged, hand forward, eyes set on Death _You are starving, are you not? For thousand of years you’ve been after me, trying to get me— I must be delicious, mustn’t I? This is the one chance you have to get me. C’mon, take my hand, you son of a—_

“Very well,” Death suddenly said with a chuckle, grabbing Ezra’s hand and squeezing. “Very funny. I accept.”

He felt it, the sensation of electricity running up his arm, and he knew a contract with no physical manifestation had been signed. Ezra took his hand back, shaking it slightly as Death opened his dark wings.

“I will be observing, _Ezra_,” he said, and disappeared in a flash of stars.

Ezra bent down a bit, hand on his knee, catching his breath.

“What— What have you done that for? He will get you!” Adam asked, pained.

“No— Not if things go as I’m planning,” Ezra replied in a trembly whisper. “Listen, Adam. I need you— I need you to help me out. It’s the only way I have to save Crowley.”

Adam blinked, and then his eyes seemed to light with excitement. He was still holding Ezra’s hand.

“An adventure! Of course I’ll help!”

Ezra smiled weakly.

He knew he was launching himself in something far bigger than him, with very frail weapons. His wit, whatever knowledge about how Heaven and Hell worked he could extrapolate from the context and a lifetime of reading religious mythos, and a young boy that might be able to warp reality with the right cues.

The game was on.

—

Steps echoed in the corridor. Hell’s intricate sprawling of claustrophobic hallways kept going and going, as Ezra walked with intent.

(_“Take us to Hell, huh? Alright, let me just— Ew, gross.”_

_“Yes, it does look like a rather depressing place.”_)

He was a candle in the night, a faint glow to him.

(_“You have to glow. Angels glow, right?”_

_“I— Suppose. I think you should also change my clothing…”_

_“That guy was dressing like a business man, so I guess modern clothing is fine. But white. All white.”_)

The two tails of his white coat over his white tuxedo flapped with each steps. He could feel Adam displeasure at the smell, and he couldn’t blame him. He was very displeased himself.

(_“You need to follow me, but stay out of sight. Can you do that?”_

_“Mr. Crowley said I could do anything I wanted, as long as I put my mind to it.”_

_“Excellent job, young man.”_)

He turned a corner, and saw another white figure. He quickened his steps as much as he dared without sprinting into a run.

(_“I heard them say holy water…”_

_“Holy water, huh? Angels will be involved, too, then. I don’t think that’s something Demons can easily get their hands on.”_

_“In all the movies the holy water is like, super dangerous to Demons, right? That’s why!”_

_“I was thinking more about some books I’ve read, but— Exactly that, dear boy.”_)

“Excuse me!” he called, and the other white figure turned.

Ezra’s heart skipped a beat. He— Recognized that face, even if he only saw it in a memory that barely belonged to him, a memory from before he was himself. But he didn’t allow anything to transpire on his expression as he trotted closer, smiling faintly.

The Archangel Michael positively froze, holding onto the transparent glass pitcher for dear life. Their mouth opened and closed multiple times, eyes wide, as Ezra stepped at their side.

“…_Aziraphale_,” they finally let out, faint. They’d gone rather pale.

“Hello!” Ezra said in his most positively lovable tone, hands pressed together. “My, it has been a while, my dear, hasn’t it?”

“I… I suppose— What—“

“Oh, it’s— Goodness me, it’s a _very_ long story,” he said, twisting his eyebrows in concern. “I’d love to bring you up to speed, dear, but well— We are both quite in a hurry, I’m sure.”

“In a— Hurry?” Michael asked, almost dumbly. It was clear by the expression of shocked surprise frozen on their face that they were having a rather difficult time processing the situation. They kept looking up and down at Aziraphale’s faintly glowing figure like they simply could not believe their eyes.

“Dear, I hate to ask you a favor the minute I’m back, but— Well, you see, I’m afraid the Demon Crowley played a rather nasty trick on me, and— Well, I think you understand. I’d love to get the upper hand on him, just to— Make things clear.”

“Make things clear?”

Ezra had to fight the physical urge to roll his eyes. “I wish to show my loyalty to Heaven, if you will. And get a bit of fun out of it, while I’m there, you know? I know we hadn’t… Parted on the best of terms, back then, but I am home, and I want to show everyone my gratitude for this second chance.”

“Wait— Oh.” Something seemed to finally snap into place, in Michael’s head. “You want me to hand over the responsibility to you.”

“That’s the general idea, yes.”

“I’m— Afraid I cannot do that,” Michael said, careful. “I’m— Very happy to have you back, Aziraphale. But there are certain policies— It’d take quite a while, to have the paperwork ready, and this execution ought to be swift.”

_Very happy my bosom._

“Oh, I understand…” Ezra sighed with affectation. “A shame, but I won’t push. Would it be alright for me to simply watch?”

“…I don’t see a reason to say no,” Michael conceded, clearly relieved, if still on guard. “We are almost there, stay close. These Demons can be— A nasty bunch.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Ezra gave a brilliant, toothy smile, and followed Michael giving them a couple of steps in the lead.

He then silently mimicked the act of hitting something as if he was holding a baseball bat. A handful of seconds as they walked quietly, and what looked like a broken, leaky pipe appeared in Ezra’s hand.

It didn’t take much. A good twist on the hips, charge your arms back, and—

SDONG! Went the pipe against Michael’s head, who crumbled in a heap on the ground. Adam popped back into a plane of existence where he could be seen, catching the pitcher before it could crash on the floor.

“You— Clobbered an Archangel,” he declared, with a smile that went from an ear to the other, cradling the pitcher carefully. “Mr. _Fell!”_

His tone was _delighted_.

“An Archangel, huh? Well, I went through two world wars, young man. A bit of a bump on the head doesn’t scare me,” Ezra replied, delicately putting the pipe down and then bending to grab Michael’s unconscious body by the armpits, dragging it into a corner out of sight. “They had it coming, anyway. I tried to do this the kind way.”

“You are the coolest un-cool dork I ever meet in my life, Mr. Fell.”

“I have no clue on how to take that,” Ezra replied, practical, dusting his hands. “So. Any idea what’s in that pitcher? Is it holy water?”

“Oh, definitely,” Adam grunted, curling his nose. “It has— _A smell_.”

“Can you un-holy it?”

A handful of silent seconds went by, as Adam closed his eyes, and then chirped. “Done!”

“Thank you, dear boy— Here we go,” Ezra huffed, gently taking the pitcher now full of non-holy water off of Adam’s hands. “Now, back to being invisible. And _stay_ invisible. We might need to pretend I can make the water disappear with the— Angelic magic or whatever. Can you do that?”

“Of course! Just give me a signal!” Adam replied, as he disappeared from view.

“I’ll snap my fingers. Now, let’s keep quiet.”

Back into the role. Ezra rolled his shoulders back, squaring them, and then sliding into a dignified walk, imitating Michael. It wasn’t long before a foul smell reached his nose, and he knew he must be close.

“_Gross_—“

“_Dear boy, quiet!_”

Voices were rising. Ezra took a deep breath, eyes closed, and then quickened his steps.

When he entered the room full of demons, roars echoed so loudly it made his ears hurt. Crowley—

_God, Crowley…_

He was kneeling in the center of the room, in front of three ugly thrones. His shoulders slumped, blood under his nose and chin, his expression weary. He was staring at the floor, apparently uncaring of the taunts and the sneering of the Demons calling his name, laughing at him— But Ezra knew better. He knew Crowley, and he knew that look, the light in his eyes that meant Crowley had given up. It broke Ezra’s heart to the point of pain piercing his chest. It took him everything he had to keep his expression neutral.

He had to. He needed not to let a single thing slip out of him. Both his and Crowley’s life depended on this gamble. On Ezra’s ability to keep up the charade.

The Demon sitting on the highest of the thrones turned to him, unhappily squinting through the mop of dark hair on their head, flies buzzing around them.

“Who are you? Where’s Michael?”

—

He hadn’t been back for a long time. He really did not miss it.

Not that it mattered, really. Crowley was a shell.

He felt hollow. Empty. Holding his nose pulsating with hot pain as blood rolled down his chin, in his throat, while he watched Ezra angrily run away through tears— It had almost taken out all that Crowley had in him, forcefully, like a dentist pulling out a tooth with all their strength and no regards for their patient.

He held onto a tiny bit of determination, if only to do whatever he could to prevent the world from actually ending. Because he liked the world, for starters, thank you very much, and secondly, the world was where Ezra lived.

The only place he could live, Crowley knew with certainty, now that they both found out the truth. Because Ezra wouldn’t have been able to seek refuge on either side, if Earth was to get destroyed. He was chained to a curse, forced in the middle, and Crowley wanted to vomit at the mere thought of him being forced to spend an eternity in suffering, on a barren planet. It was a thought fed to him by his own hyperactive imagination already, that he’d been dreading since he found out the Antichrist had been misplaced, that all his efforts to try and avoid the apocalypse in the past decade had been for nothing. And receiving the confirmation that Ezra would, indeed, be forced to live in such agony, should War happen, was simply too much to bear.

Crowley would make sure to keep Ezra safe with his last dying breath, even if he felt like his soul was crumbling down.

And he liked to think he did help, somehow. By encouraging Adam to refuse his Father, to tell him exactly what he thought of this whole blasted ordeal, Crowley liked to think he helped. The apocalypse was averted.

Ezra would be safe—

Not that his relief was long-lived. He was perfectly aware that he might not be forgiven, ever. Not this time around. Ezra had forgiven him when Crowley watched him suffer without doing a thing, and had forgiven him when Crowley had abandoned him, clutched by a fear that he only now recognized.

But he might not be able to forgive this. Not— All of this, all the lies and deception and stupid little performances Crowley had put up for millenia, to pretend that he was just like Ezra. He knew that— Finding out so many things, almost all at once, must’ve taken quite a toll on Ezra. And he knew that what he must consider to be a betrayal on Crowley’s part had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

He’d been miserable as the small, unlikely group of saviours of the world had reunited, mostly confused by all that happened. He didn’t have the strength to explain to Anathema what occurred, when she asked worriedly where Ezra was.

And then Demons rose, Beelzebub furiously in the lead, and dragged him back to Hell.

He didn’t even attempt to put up a fight. He knew that they knew. They saw him, heard him, as he made sure to work Adam up to the task of refusing Satan himself. He was a traitor.

Crowley would find no forgiveness from either side.

He stayed silent as they dragged him into that room, pushed him on his knees, and read him the riot act. He stayed silent when they declared his sentence: Extinction by holy water.

He knew already, after all.

“Who are you? Where’s Michael?”

Crowley didn’t even bother to look up. Why would it matter, anyway? An Angel was here to execute, and it’d hardly change anything, as far as Crowley was concerned. They could be Michael, one of their lackeys, or the Metatron itself, for all Crowley cared. All he knew was that he was tired, and desperate, and he missed Ezra so much he was sure a hole was opening in his chest—

“I’m afraid the Archangel Michael had— An urgent matter to take care of, my dear fellow.”

Crowley released a strangled, choked noise, and turned with wide eyes.

His ears weren’t deceiving him. It was _Ezra_.

He looked like— Himself, with some tweaking. He was wearing an eye-hurting white tuxedo with just as white, shining dress shoes, and an even more white two-tailed coat. His hair was as messy as ever, glowing faintly— Except it wasn’t just his hair, _he_ was glowing faintly from head to toe, a pure, shining star in the darkness of Hell.

And there was a cold smile on his face, eyes pointedly not turning toward Crowley. He was holding a glass pitcher.

_Oh_. Crowley thought with a tiny internal voice, something breaking inside. _He’s— He’s back with his real family, then— He… He’s here for vengeance._

He could feel the tears rising to his eyes, and he desperately attempted to blink them back as he looked down. He took in softly wheezing breaths, the panic clogging his throat.

_He hates me he hates me he hates me—_

“Who are _you_, then?” Beelzebub snapped, clearly irritated.

“I’m— The Principality Aziraphale. Nice to meet you.”

“Never heard of that.”

“I’d guess not, dear fellow. I’ve been— Away, for quite a while. I was tasked by the Archangel Michael to take care of this in their stead,” Crowley heard a faint splash, suggesting Ezra had made a point of showing the pitcher he was holding. “The purest of Holy Water. Can we can get on with it? This whole ordeal has been— Embarrassing for everyone involved, I’m sure. The faster we close this chapter, the better.”

Beelzebub squirmed on their seat, as all the other Demons shuffled around nervously. Heels clicked on the floor as Ezra advanced, his voice closer when he coldly said. “Is this him?”

“Indeed,” Dagon replied with a sneer. White shoes entered into Crowley’s field of vision. The glowing was almost hurting his eyes.

“Very well…” there was a pause, as all Demons held their breaths, leaning in ravenously. “My dear fellows, I’d suggest you all take some steps back. There will be some splashing, I’d imagine, and I don’t think you’d appreciate getting hit by even a single drop of _this_.”

More shuffling, and Demons retreated in a hurry. Crowley closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth.

He was not going to beg for forgiveness. He was not going to say sorry. He wasn’t going to scream at Ezra how much he loved him, not— Not now, not when he clearly wasn’t Ezra anymore. This was Aziraphale.

_Let me at least _ ** _die_ ** _ with some dignity—_

He tensed violently when the first drop fell on top of his head, and squeezed his eyes shut even more.

_Please, please make it quick before— _ ** _Please_ ** _—_

The rest of the water followed, chilly, sending a shiver down his spine as it sunk in his hair, drenching him. Little streams rolled down his face, following the angular lines of his cheekbones, and—

It didn’t hurt.

Crowley snapped his eyes open.

“…Huh,” Ezra said, with a little pensive note.

“What— What?!” Hastur growled, from somewhere at Crowley’s right. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“Well…” The water stopped flowing. Crowley still dared not look up, as Ezra spoke with a light, contemplative voice. “There’s a specific reason I was sent into Michael’s stead, my dear fellow. I am Heaven’s expert when it comes down to Earth and the humans, and we had the suspicion this agent of yours might— Might’ve gotten a bit _broken_.”

“…What?” Beelzebub hissed, something fearful in their voice.

“Spent too much time on Earth, mingling with humans,” Ezra continued, still pensive. “I was rather hoping it wouldn’t be the case, that we’d get this over and done quickly, but I’m afraid we’ll have to do it the hard way. On your feet, _Demon_.”

Crowley hesitated for a second, and then slowly started to climb back up on trembling knees. He still not dared look at Ezra, his mind pure white noise, eyes pointed at the floor.

“Wait, you can’t—! This is our jurisdiction!” Dagon tried to protest. Ezra replied with an icy chuckle.

“Not anymore. Oh, don’t you worry, we will take care of him— Make sure he won’t defile any more of our efforts, my dear fellow,” his voice was pure cold. “I promise you the case will be brought in front of— A higher authority, if you know what I mean.”

Silence fell. Crowley kept looking at the floor. Ezra spoke, slowly.

“I wouldn’t touch him, if I were you. He’s pretty _wet_.”

The thing that was hovering behind Crowley’s shoulder retreated hastily. Ezra’s hand closed in a grip around Crowley’s elbow, jerking him forward.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said, starting to walk away, pushing the pitcher in Crowley’s hands. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”

They went for the exit. Angry murmurs were starting to rise from behind.

“Oh, I almost forgot…” Ezra said, distractedly, as they stopped right by the door. He snapped his fingers, and Crowley felt the wetness disappear on his body, and knew the water on the floor also must’ve been evaporated. “Wouldn’t want to leave that mess over there. One of you might step on it, and that wouldn’t be pleasing, now, wouldn’t it?”

Then they kept walking, steps speeding up the further they went from the room, Ezra’s hand still firmly dragging him along. They arrived all the way down the corridor, and then Ezra murmured.

“Take us away.”

Crowley had the feeling of being sucked into a vacuum, and everything went dark.

—

When they re-emerged in something that didn’t feel like a void, it was still dark. Crowley blinked repeatedly, noticing it was only because it was night, and he was slowly focusing on the concrete lines of trees around them.

They were near the Bentley, still parked some ways away from the hole in the fence.

Ezra’s hand let him go, and Crowley speechlessly looked down at the empty pitcher still in his hands.

“We did it! We did it!” The joyous voice made him jump, as Adam Young appeared out of apparently thin air, dancing around. “We did it, Mr. Fell!”

“Y-yeah—“ Ezra stammered, and Crowley turned toward him. He was still wearing white from head to toe, but the glowing was gone, and he didn’t look all that ethereal anymore. He just looked like someone who was about to puke—

Which was exactly the truth. Ezra swayed a bit, paling even more as he took some steps, murmuring “Excuse me a second—“ before dropping on his knees on a patch of grass, and spilling his guts with loud coughs. Adam grimaced.

“Huh— Sorry, Mr. Fell. Was it my fault? It must’ve been a bumpy ride—“

“Not your fault—“ Ezra croaked, weakly. He vomited a bit more, and then leaned back on his knees, drying his chin on a sleeve, shivering. “_Shit_—“ He hissed, so low Crowley almost missed it. “We actually _did it_—“

That was what finally jumpstarted Crowley’s frail, destroyed mind back into working.

“You—“ he managed to whisper, something tight in his throat. Ezra wasn’t an Angel— He never went back to being an Angel. He stayed himself, and— “You faced _Hell_. To _save me_.”

Ezra turned slowly, as he rose back up on unsteady feet. He looked like a washed out billionaire going through a middle-age crisis, with a terrible taste for clothing, who just came out of a cocaine-addled party and then had some more, for good measure.

And Crowley had never seen anything more _beautiful_ in his entire life.

“Oh— I think this is the part where I go home. My parents are already angry enough about the whole air-base situation, anyway, and I should be in time-out in my room,” Adam said, clearly sensing the shift in atmosphere. “Hey, Mr. Fell— That was a bit crazy, but fun. Can I see you again, sometimes?”

“Yes. Yes, of course—“ Ezra replied, voice rough. “Of course, Adam. Now do go home, dear boy, and rest. I’ll take it from here.”

“Ok. Bye-bye Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley!”

And he was gone.

“You faced _Hell_,” Crowley repeated. He belatedly realized he was still holding the bloody pitcher, and launched it carelessly behind himself. But instead of landing with a soft thud on the dead leaves, or crashing, it landed with a soft thud on something that said ‘Ow.’

They both turned.

“Ezra,” Death said, sounding infinitely amused. He was holding the pitcher, which he made disappear with a vague arm gesture. “That was— The most entertaining thing I’ve seen in millennia. You are quite something else, dear friend.”

“Very glad to hear that,” Ezra snapped back, the sarcasm thick in his voice. “Super delighted that me gambling with Crowley’s and my own life amused you, _mate_. Now, are we all done with our bargain, or were there some fine prints I should’ve been aware of?”

“Oh, no, nothing of the sort. You’ve won the bet fair and square, I have no remonstrations,” Death snapped his bony fingers, the noise echoing loudly. “As promised, you will have your prize. Just be aware— If at any point in the future you will feel like you want to step back from this pact, and renounce yourself, I will be listening.”

“Yeah, whatever. Thanks,” Ezra sighed, eliciting a little chuckle out of Death, and then he was gone as well.

Crowley’s mind had broken a bit more, and he shook his head, trying to put the pieces back together once again.

“You— Made a bet with Death?” He croaked, disbelieving.

“Sort of,” Ezra replied tiredly.

“…What for?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

They looked at each other, silent. Ezra looked— So desperately tired, and weary. His eyes seemed to contain something that should not be contained, that should be impossible to contain, as they stared at one another.

“You faced Hell for me—“ Crowley murmured, the tight thing back in his throat. “You— You bargained with Death. For me.”

A muscle twitched in Ezra’s cheek. “And?” he said, dangerously low.

“I—“ Crowley gaped, unable to put into words the impossible warmth that was blooming in his chest. “Ezra— Ezra, _why_?”

“W—“ It all arrived like an explosion. Ezra stepped forward, his expression shifting in anguish, as he screamed. “ISN’T IT OBVIOUS, YOU BLOODY IDIOT?! I _LOVE_ YOU!”

The warm thing in Crowley’s chest let out a whimper, and then a laugh. Except he also let out a whimper and then a laugh, golden eyes filling with tears.

“You— Love m-me?”

“YES!” Ezra screamed again, and then slapped his hands on his face, turning on himself with a frustrated groan. “Why— Why me?! Why did I had to fall in love with the stupidest man that ever existed?!”

Crowley was still attempting to breathe, the warm thing extending to his entire body. He stepped forward, knowing he must be wearing the dumbest smile ever smiled on Earth.

“Oh, Ezra— Darling, _love_, you have no idea— You have no idea of how much _I love you_—“ he choked out, laughing, fingers closing gently on Ezra’s shoulders—

But Ezra jerked back, finally facing him again, eyes full of tears. Crowley gaped, confused.

“No— No, Crowley, I can’t—“ Ezra sobbed, eyebrows twisting. “I can’t— I can’t do this. Not— Not after all that—“

“Wait, Ezra—“

“NO! No, I can’t, Crowley— You— That was enough. I had enough.”

The warm thing inside Crowley was turning cold. He stood there, hands stupidly hovering in the air where Ezra’s shoulders had been.

“But— You went through all that, to save me—“ he tried to reason, stammering.

“Yes, I did,” Ezra laughed, mirthless, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I did, because I love you. But that doesn’t mean that I also forgive you, Crowley.”

The warm thing was now ice. Something creaked in Crowley’s chest.

“_Ezra_—“ he choked out, strangled.

“I need— I need time. You—“ Ezra sobbed, angrily wiping the tears away. “You’ve lied to me for _so long_— I can’t— I can’t stand it.”

“Ezra, I— I know. I know, I’m _sorry_— I know I should’ve told you everything a long time ago, but I was so scared— I didn’t want to _hurt you_—“

“And in doing so, you’ve hurt me more than you could possibly imagine,” Ezra whispered back, gray eyes shining with tears and regret, as he explored Crowley’s expression. “I can’t— I can’t be with you, now. I need you to stay away.”

The creaking thing in Crowley’s chest creaked some more, and crashed. His hands fell limply at his sides, as he speechlessly stared back, eyes burning.

“Take care of yourself, Crowley,” Ezra murmured, tears hanging on his eyelashes. “Goodbye.”

He turned his back to Crowley, and walked away without turning even once, a white spirit disappearing in the dark woods. Crowley stumbled back, until he met his Bentley, and slid down, leaning against it.

A broken sob escaped his lips, as his shivering hands collected against his face, and he finally allowed himself to cry, laments echoing in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the day late update! I was on a trip and meant to post the chapter last night, as soon as I came home, but then whoopsies got food poisoning, had to take a flight in the middle of it, 0/10 would not reccomend
> 
> [As an apology here's a little silly extra lmao](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/430477671605207050/623943822316929034/tarotn6-extra.jpg)


	7. The World

Chapter 7: The World

The red door opened, the [notes of a song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bc0KhhjJP98) just starting to flow out.

_Hail (hail)_

_What's the matter with your head, yeah_

_Hail (hail)_

_What's the matter with your mind_

_And your sign an-a, oh-oh-oh_

The radio had been a rather recent addition. One might think the owner of that corner shop in Soho had decided to modernise the antique looking place with a bit of modern music. Never too loud, just there, a companion to those who would rummage through the precariously stacked columns of textbooks in search of what they needed. They’d be wrong.

Ezra had decided on a whim to get the radio installed because of the simple fact that he could not stand the silence.

The radio had been mostly playing Christmas songs on loop for three weeks, at that point, but every now and then they’d break the holiday fuelled madness with something else, just to spruce things up a bit. Not that Ezra ever paid any attention to what was playing, or at all. He just needed the background noise.

That moment was one of those cases, some old, cheerful song being played to take a respite from the endless carols.

_Hail (hail)_

_Nothin' the matter with your head_

_Baby find it, come on and find it_

He wasn’t listening to it. Maybe if he had, he would receive some good pointers.

As it was, the earlier than usual closing time was approaching. Only a couple of particularly loyal students lagged behind.

“Mr. Fell?”

He smiled briefly with the ‘shop owner’ smile.

“Are you leaving, dear?”

“Yeah, gotta go catch my plane—“ Giorgia hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she adjusted the strap of her bag. “Mr. Fell, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Is… Everything alright? With Mr. Crowley?” She bit her lip. “Did you two— Break up?”

_Hail, with it baby_

_'Cause you're fine_

_And you're mine, and you look so divine_

“…You can say that, I guess.”

_Come and get your love_

_Come and get your love…_

“Oh. I’m— Sorry,” she hesitated again. “Does this mean you’ll be all alone during Christmas?”

Ezra blinked, carefully putting the last book resting in his arm back where it belonged. He never celebrated Christmas, but he didn’t feel like explaining that, especially since the dear girl had enthusiastically been telling anyone willing to listen about how she was going to fly back home for the holidays, where her family was organizing a huge party, and she couldn’t wait to see her parents, her brother, her aunt and uncles and endless list of cousins, her grandparents— It sounded rather nice, indeed.

“I won’t be alone,” he said, instead, smiling briefly again. It was a lie, but she did not need to know that, either. “You shouldn’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be fine.”

“Mh,” she sniffed. “Mr. Fell, if my parents manage to visit after the winter, would it be ok to bring them here? They really want to meet you. Thank you for— For all that you have done for me.”

That gave Ezra another pause, as he glanced at the shy but determined look on Giorgia’s face.

“Of course, dear girl. I’m not quite sure I did anything that deserves gratitude, but I’d love to meet them, too.”

She scoffed. “_Nothing that deserves gratitude_— Please,” that won her a small laugh. “Merry Christmas, then, Mr. Fell.”

“And to you, dear,” he said, seeing her off with a wave from the front door. It was snowing, and he took some seconds to look at the delicate flakes fluttering from the sky, before retreating into the shop.

_Hail (hail)_

_It's your business if you want some, take some_

_Get it together baby_

_Come and get your love_

_Come and get your love_

_Come and get your love…_

—

The headphones were new, as well. Not that Ezra didn’t enjoy music, but when he walked he usually preferred to listen to the sounds of life bustling around him. Not anymore.

He walked slowly, wrapped in a heavy winter coat, a scarf wrapped all the way up to his nose, and the headphones giving him an endless stream of background noise. Snowflakes fell and stuck in his hair, invisible in the blond-white of those messy curls. He wouldn’t take the headphones off until he was up in his apartment, the remote of his television always sitting by the entrance, so he could turn it on the moment he stepped in.

Not that he paid attention to it. He might actively listen in during the evening news, but for the most part it was just background noise.

He constantly needed background noise, because he couldn’t stand the silence.

He had revelled in the silence, at first. As he walked all the way back to Tadfield in the middle of the night, and then caught the first bus from there. Early commuters on their way to London looked at him funnily, at this pale, tired looking man in an extremely formal white tuxedo stained with grass on the knees. He never looked back, keeping his red-rimmed eyes on the outside, just wishing everything, _everyone_ would just shut up.

He basked in the silence, as he allowed his sluggish mind to just— Stop. Not do anything as he slowly walked back to Soho, so tired he was dragging himself on autopilot to his flat. He rejoiced in the silence as he took a shower, and finally could wash the foul taste of stale bile out of his mouth, and let himself get cradled in the silence when he fell asleep like a rock the moment his head hit the pillow.

Then he woke, and the silence was _too much_.

The silence allowed him to think. He knew, logically, that he _should_ be thinking. Thinking about a mountain of things.

He did not want to. He did not want to— To think about anything. He did not want to go through memories with a fine toothed comb to find the discrepancies, and realize how the signs had been obviously under his nose the entire time. To think about ancient discussions, and relive words he now knew were nothing but lies.

He didn’t want to think about how he ended up being what he was now. About the Angels that cursed him without a second thought. He didn’t want to think about all the agony he had to live through because a bunch of supernatural creatures that couldn’t take their heads out of their assess decided to punish him for— What? The crime of caring about others?

He didn’t want to think about the hours he spent looking up at the sky and wondering if there was something up there— Praying, humbly requesting nothing but a simple answer regarding his existence. An answer that never came.

He didn’t want to think about Cr—

He didn’t even allow his mind to complete that name.

It was childish, it was stupid, but he couldn’t cope with it if not in that way.

He couldn’t think about him, because he still loved so desperately much, and yearned even more, and yet he still was so fiercely angry, and those two parts of him were at odds, like trying to mix oil and water. Because for every moment of tenderness in which he contemplated the idea of forgiving him, there was a moment of bitter agony, in realizing he simply was not ready to face him yet.

He didn’t know when he’d be ready to face him. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

So the silence had to go. He had to keep it at bay, because if he was caught unaware, the silence would swallow him whole, and all those things he was keeping pushed down somewhere dark would come out all at once, driving him mad.

As per usual, the TV was on before he could even put his keys down by the entrance door. He took off the headphones, and then started to slide out of the various layers of winter clothing.

“Hi, Ezra!”

“_Jesus Christ_— Adam!” Ezra exhaled, a hand on his chest where his heart was. “Dear boy, I told you, I have a phone! You have my number! Just _call me_!”

Adam smiled sheepishly from the table in his open kitchen, a glass of juice in hand. He served himself, as he usually did, considering this was hardly the first time he came visiting Ezra’s flat.

“Sorry. I keep forgetting you have a phone, for some reason.”

“I have a landline in the shop, as well. You ought to try and remember that. _Please_,” Ezra sighed, taking off his gray wool sweater. The button up shirt he wore under was more than enough for his pleasingly warm apartment. “Need some more help with your history homework?”

“Nah, we don’t have school these days,” Adam replied with a shrug, emptying his glass of juice. “Wanted to invite you over for Christmas Eve.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! It’d be fun! You are going to be all alone, otherwise!”

Ezra knew there was no point in lying to Adam, so he just walked past him toward the fridge, taking out the carton of orange juice and pouring himself a glass. He sat in front of the boy, taking a sip.

“I like being alone,” he then declared.

“Huh-huh.”

“Besides, wouldn’t your parents take notice of a stranger sitting at their table during Christmas Eve?”

“A stranger?” Adam replied, tilting an eyebrow as he rolled the empty glass between his palms. “I don’t know what you are talking about. They’ll love to have uncle Ezra over from abroad, after so many years.”

Ezra glared at him over the brim of his glass, before putting it down with a severe purse of his lips.

“I thought we agreed you’d slow down with the— Reality bending.”

“I knooow—“ Adam whined back, melting on the table with a small pout. “C’mon, Ezra, just this one time! Wensleydale, Pepper and Brian have been pestering me non-stop because they want to hear some of your stories, too, and Anathema and Newt miss you. We all miss you. Please?”

Ezra sighed deeply. He had, admittedly, been dreading the idea of the holiday break forcing him home, unable to distract himself with his shop. There was no harm in accepting Adam’s invitation, he figured, and he did fancy the idea of speaking a bit more with Anathema. She was a rather brilliant young woman. And he never got to know Newt much— And Adam’s friends were all such smart, lively children.

“Alright, but just this once. No more messing around in your parents’ brain after this, ok?”

Adam grinned from ear to ear. “Promise!”

Ezra gave a tilted, tired smile and emptied his glass, before standing. “Just let me prepare, and then we’ll go out to find a gift for your parents. I’m not going to intrude in a family day empty handed. And we are driving back, not teleporting.”

Adam, who had jumped off the chair to grab his coat happily as soon as Ezra said ‘alright’, stopped in the act of putting it on, blinking.

“You can drive? Since when?”

“Since 1939, give or take,” Ezra replied distractedly, rinsing the glasses, and noticed Adam open his mouth as if he was about to ask a question Ezra would surely not like. But thankfully he must’ve rethought his choice, because he closed it with a shrug.

“Ok,” he simply said.

—

Ezra’s car was hardly fancy, but it did the job. He couldn’t even recall the model name— he had never been particularly interested in cars, outside the comfort of having a vehicle taking you from point A to point B—, he just knew it was one of those small-ish cars, perfect for life in London. He decided to buy it from one of his clients, who was talking with another client about selling his used car. He figured it might come in handy.

The drive to Tadfield was surprisingly traffic-free, and Ezra had the strong suspicion Adam might’ve had a hand in it— But if he did, it was probably an unconscious influencing. He’d do that, sometimes, and Ezra didn’t feel like scolding him for it. They made it to the Young residence in record time, well before dinner.

It was also snowing in Tadfield, making the village appear quaintly lovable, like a miniature in a snow globe. Mrs. and Mr. Young welcomed him in with quick hugs and the kind of ‘_Oh, you have to tell me all about how America is!_” that happened between family members that cared for each other enough, but never found the time to spend together outside the holidays. As Ezra was pointed vaguely toward the fridge, to go put in the expensive bottle of wine completed with a bow that he brought along, he murmured to Adam.

“America? Really?”

“What? Do you prefer Australia? Dad wouldn’t let you hear the end of his story with the spider, if it was Australia.”

“No, no more mind scrambling. I’ll deal with America.”

And so he did, making up something-or-the-other as Mrs. And Mr. Young made polite questions about ‘uncle’ Ezra’s life outside the country. There were often amused looks shared with the younger member of the family, as they dug in the genuinely delicious Christmas Eve dinner, launching the occasional scrap to Dog under the table. The bottle Ezra brought was opened, and drinks were had, as Adam unwrapped his gifts. He melted in pure joy, when he uncovered the bigger one, revealing a brand new boy-sized sled.

“Oh, mum, dad, thank you!” he exclaimed, hugging both his parents while simultaneously jumping up and down, causing Dog to bark excitedly. “Can I go try it out, please please please?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s so dark already—“ Mr. Young replied, clearly indecisive as he distractedly munched on his pipe, looking out the window.

“I’ll try it out near Anathema’s cottage, she’s got a light mounted outside! Please?”

“Oh, do let him go, dear,” Ezra interjected kindly, smiling as he shared a quick wink with Adam. “I’ll drive him there, and keep an eye out to make sure he won’t get hurt.”

It didn’t take much longer, before they were outside the house, covered in puffy coats. The snow was still falling, even if less intensely, and their breaths would condense in front of them even in the car, as they took the brief ride to Anathema’s cottage.

“Why do I have the feeling that your friends will already be there, waiting for us?” Ezra asked as they came in view of it. The dear girl must be rather fond of Christmas, because the cottage had turned into a celebration of coloured lights and decorations. To say that she had a light mounted outside was an understatement. The cottage could probably be seen from space.

Adam grinned, letting out a guilty-but-not-really little laugh. Dog was the first to jump off the car once they stopped, excitedly barking and whining as he rolled on the snow. Ezra had barely turned after closing the car’s doors, and he was already finding himself with an armful of impeccably dressed for Christmas Anathema, completed with a little santa hat on top of her puffy dark hair.

“Well, hello, there,” he laughed, pleasantly surprised by the effusive gesture. It had, admittedly, been quite a while since anyone hugged him so affectionately.

“Months! You could’ve visited earlier, you know?” she reprimanded without any real heat in her voice. “We’ve missed you, you silly. C’mon, let’s go inside where it’s warm—“

“Not a chance!” Adam bellowed, and a snowball hit Ezra square on the nose. “_SNOW FIGHT_!”

—

Twenty minutes and a lot of snow splattered on walls and Ezra’s car later they were finally inside, scrubbing themselves vigorously with fluffy towels, mugs of warm cocoa being distributed around.

“That was— Fun,” Ezra admitted, unable to stop smiling. He had, after a minute of initial reticence, had given in favor of trying to entertain the kids by throwing some snowballs. And then rapidly took a likening to it. And then became a sniper of the snow, while the kids tried to escape from him with shrill laughs.

“Of course it was. You have to spend some time between human beings, every now and then, Ezra,” Anathema sighed, squeezed in a single armchair with Newt. “And no, your shop doesn’t count.”

Ezra, who had already tried to open his mouth in protest, closed it.

“Maybe you should also move out on the countryside. It’s quite nice,” she added, sipping her cocoa.

“I don’t know, I do like London,” Ezra distractedly turned toward the kids, which were currently pouring over the sled Adam had yet to use, discussing the merits of aerodynamics and whatnot. “I guess I could— Get a small place somewhere around here, come spend a week every now and then.”

Everything felt just so— Perfect. A snowy Christmas Eve. A young happy couple that cared for him. Kids, who constantly posed curious questions with their bright, little inquisitive minds, currently relaxing after playing with him. A cute, small dog hopefully looking at him, eager for more scraps. The decorations and warm cocoa and fire crackling cheerfully in the fireplace—

So perfect. And yet, something was amiss. A keen pain stung in Ezra’s chest, as his eyes went hooded.

He knew perfectly well what it was, that was missing.

“Ah, Ezra—“ Anathema interjected casually, shaking him out of his thoughts. “I’ve got some wine— There’s a cellar in the back, but I’m not really good at picking wines. Would you mind taking a look? You are the expert, here.”

He would’ve normally said that he had drunk enough during dinner— But that seemed impolite. Not to mention he’d really like to get a bit sloshed, right about now.

“Sure,” he said, putting his mug of half-drunk cocoa down and taking the towel he used to scrub his hair off his shoulders. He distractedly combed his still vaguely humid curls back as he went for the corridor, down in the back.

The cellar (more like an oversized broom closet) was dark when he opened it, almost unnaturally so, and it was dark even with the light that was pouring from behind him. He ventured further, palming blindly in search of a switch—

The door closed behind him with a thud, and he heard a key turn. He froze.

“What’s going on?!” he then snapped after a second of flabbergasted silence, turning back toward the door. He pawed for the handle and shook, but it was definitely closed. “Hey!”

No answer came. The lights were turned on, and he flinched slightly, surprised.

A small moan rattled from behind him, and he whipped around.

Crowley was curled in a corner, face hidden against his knees. His hair was much longer than it had been the last time they saw each other, and also a bird’s nest. He seemed to be wearing the exact same clothes he wore that night of months prior.

Ezra gaped at him, speechless, and then the understanding clicked.

“You— _Anathema_!” he bellowed, causing Crowley to jump awake with an inarticulate noise. “This isn’t funny! Let me out!”

“You know what’s not funny?” Anathema replied from behind the door, voice muffled. “Having a Demon as the village drunk.”

“…And the fact that you two are acting like fools,” Adam interjected, his voice also muffled.

Ezra turned around before Crowley, who was blinking blearily in blatant, sleepy confusion, could meet his eyes. He faced the door, glaring at the innocent wood like it personally offended Ezra’s entire nonexistent lineage.

“You have no right— This is none of your business!” He spluttered, furious. “Let me out! Now!”

“…Ezra?”

He flinched. Crowley’s voice sounded so weak and desperate and— So sincerely vulnerable— Exactly what he feared the most.

Because if he turned around, and Crowley said even one more word with that frail, hopeful tone, Ezra might do something very stupid. Like launching himself between his arms and never letting him go.

So he didn’t turn. He froze, shoulders tense, facing the door.

He heard shuffling behind, and the soft tap of heels on the wooden floor.

“…You’re here,” Crowley said, sounding broken. A shiver ran down Ezra’s spine.

There was only silence from the other side of the door. No doubt, the group of meddlers had left, giving them some privacy.

Ezra was stuck there. He was stuck in a stupid cellar that was really a glorified broom closet, no windows and a closed door in front of him, and the man he wanted to see more than anything in the world, while also wishing to never see again, right behind him.

He felt electric, and he could tell that Crowley’s hand was hovering above his shoulder. But Crowley didn’t touch him, and Ezra didn’t turn.

“…Anathema said you are the village drunk,” Ezra finally said, voice low, when the silence was growing unbearable. “Is that true?”

Crowley laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. He sounded more than broken— He sounded like someone took the already broken pieces and threw them in a trash compactor.

“I guess I am,” he said, his voice rough in that way that suggested it mostly stayed unused. “The Bentley won’t let me in, you know? I think she’s pissed at me. So I stayed around and kind of tried to drink my feelings, waiting for her to calm down. But she never did. She’s still parked by the cursed air-base. So— I guess I kept drinking. My memories are kind of hazy.”

Ezra closed his eyes, releasing a trembly sigh. _Stupid, stupid Crowley—_

He moved, just one step. And then another. When he turned around, he didn’t look up, eyes pointed at the lines of Crowley’s collarbone.

“Ezra,” Crowley murmured, sounding on the verge of tears, but none fell. “Just— _look at you_—“ he added, almost a whisper. His fingers barely brushed Ezra’s forehead, as he gently tucked a stray curl backwards. “You hair is a bit longer.”

“I forgot to book an appointment with my barber, last month,” Ezra replied, in an attempt to feel any resemblance of normality. He was still staring at Crowley’s chest. His heart was doing strange things, and his mind even stranger ones. His palms were splayed against the door, as if he was simultaneously hoping of being sucked away and holding it close so no one could intrude.

“…This really doesn’t do, does it,” he let out, trembly, as another silence stretched uncomfortably. He took a deep breath and finally, _finally_ looked up.

Crowley looked the same, and yet completely different. Same golden eyes with thin pupils, same cutting cheekbones, same vaguely hooked nose—

But that light of resignation in his gaze was new. The unkept hair. The general air of misery he exuded.

“Oh, Crowley,” Ezra murmured, eyebrow twisting, and it was like flipping a switch. Crowley sobbed, almost abandoning his entire weight against Ezra as he leaned in to press his forehead on Ezra’s shoulder, his thin arms circling him with trembly desperation, fingers sinking and clinging on the back of Ezra’s sweater.

“Ezra—“ he sobbed again. “_Fuck_, Ezra— I’m so sorry— I’m _sorry_— I’m sorry— Please— _Please,_ don’t leave me again—“

And that was all that was needed, really. Five, simple words.

Ezra’s wall crumbled.

“I won’t—“ He whispered back, around a knot in his throat. His fingers found Crowley’s back, caressing gently, eliciting another broken sob out of him. “I won’t. I won’t leave you.”

—

The cellar was a bit cold. They huddled in a corner, Crowley rolled up against him, fingers constantly hooked in Ezra’s clothes as if he was terrified he might disappear, if he let go.

It didn’t look comfortable, but Crowley had always been—_ Bend-y_. Like his joints hadn’t gotten the memo about how they were supposed to work.

Ezra distractedly combed Crowley’s hair back with his fingers, gently undoing the knots in them, as they sat in silence. By the time he was done Crowley already looked more like a person rather than the personification of despair. He also looked extremely relaxed, breathing evenly with his eyes closed, his head resting on Ezra’s shoulder.

“… Are you asleep?” Ezra asked softly, a sense of fondness so strong it was almost dizzying blooming in his chest.

“No,” Crowley whispered back, eyes still closed. “No— I’m just— Enjoying the moment.”

Ezra hummed. It was— Rather enjoyable, admittedly. Being this close, with all the sharp angles of Crowley’s body digging into him. He missed those sharp angles.

But there was something important that needed to be done, no matter how enjoyable their— _Cuddling_ was.

“Crowley— We need to talk,” he said with a sigh, knowing the more he postponed, the worse this talk would be. Crowley grunted.

“Do we?”

“Yes. We do.”

With a sigh, Crowley leaned back slightly, sitting a bit more upright. They were eye to eye.

“Where do you want to begin?” he asked, tired, but also with some faint determination in his gaze.

“…I don’t know,” Ezra admitted, slowly. There was just— So much.

“Can I begin, then?” When Ezra nodded, Crowley continued. “I owe you an apology. Many apologies. I knew that what I was doing was wrong. I’ve known that for a long time. I wanted— I wanted to tell you the truth, but it had been _so long_, Ezra. It terrified me— And I kept putting it off— And the more time I let pass, the more terrified I grew of telling you the truth. But I should have done it a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

“…What scared you so much?”

“Hurting you. Losing you. I knew— I knew that— Believing there was someone like you was a great relief for you. And I was so scared that by telling you the truth about me, you’d fall back into despair. That— That you’d go so far, where I couldn’t reach, and— I couldn’t stand the thought.”

Ezra closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He knew— He knew that Crowley’s fears weren’t baseless, not at all.

“I understand,” he murmured back, leaning into the faint touch Crowley shyly put on his cheek. “You— You probably had good reasons to worry so much. But, Crowley— If you had told me— Maybe I would’ve been saddened, at first, but— Do you really think that, after all we went through together, I would’ve just left you behind?”

“…I didn’t know what to think, Ezra,” Crowley whispered, sincere. “I had no idea of what your reaction could’ve been. I just… Had no idea what to do. I—“ He worked his throat, clearly nervous, eyes darting around before settling back toward Ezra’s. “I was afraid that— That the only reason you’ve stuck with me for this long was just because— Because I was the only one you had. That you had no choice.”

Ezra blinked, slowly, before a small frown settled on his face.

“Crowley,” he started, soft. “Tell me— Have you ever thought about just— Leaving me?”

“What?” Crowley replied, confused. “No, of course not! Why would I?”

“So… Why did you believe I would?” Ezra continued, a small, tilted smile pulling at his lips. “Really, Crowley— After all this time, did you really think that the only reason I stuck around was just due to circumstances? That, if I didn’t actually enjoy being with you, I wouldn’t have left at some point?

Blinking repeatedly, Crowley’s eyes went a bit wide. “…Oh,” he said, faint.

“You’re so silly—“ Ezra murmured, a huffy little laugh escaping his lips. “I never felt forced by circumstances, Crowley. I’ve been with you because I’ve wanted to be.”

“…Ok,” Crowley replied, still faint.

“Because I love you.”

At that, Crowley closed his eyes, openly shivering. “…Yes. You’ve told me.”

“Because I’ve loved you for a long, long time, my dear.”

A sniff. Crowley kept his eyes closed. “Have you?”

“Yes. Since Rome, actually.”

At that, golden eyes snapped open, as a strangled “_Excuse me?!_” was uttered.

“I don’t think you quite realize how lovable you are, Crowley,” Ezra smiled, pushing with a fingertip against the tip of Crowley’s nose. “You are an insufferable asshole, and a relentless liar, and a smug jerk. And you are also the kindest man I’ve ever met, the most thoughtful, the most passionate. The more we spoke during those nights, the more I could see all the beauty in you. And I couldn’t help but fall for you.”

Crowley was gaping, as his eyes went a bit wet. “You— Jesus, Ezra, _that long_?!”

Ezra shrugged back, as if saying ‘_what can you do?_’

“But— When we were in Florence—“

Ezra huffed. “I was trying to distract myself from you, since you clearly weren’t interested. Didn’t work. It was 1473, Crowley, centuries ago. Did you miss the fact that I haven’t taken on any lover, after those years?”

“I didn’t— I— I wasn’t interested?! Fuck,_ of course_ I was—“ Crowley groaned. “We are two idiots, aren’t we?”

“Speak for yourself, I’ve attempted something more with you multiple times. And you had a strange way of showing interest, my dear.”

“I was in denial,” Crowley sighed deeply. “Alright, _I_ was the idiot. I just— I don’t really know when I fell in love with you. Maybe I also fell for you in Rome— Do you have any idea of how disgustingly charming you are?” Ezra laughed, and Crowley continued after letting out a little huff. “I— Denied my feelings for a long time. I finally gave in to them when you left to fight another bloody war.”

“Really,” Ezra replied, more interested than anything else. “What prompted the acceptance?”

“That— _Fuck, I remember it like it was yesterday_. That forehead kiss—“ he went a little strangled, and cleared his throat. “If you had snogged me right there and then, I wouldn’t have accepted my feelings, I think. I would’ve thought you were just a bit horny. But no, you _had_ to give me that blasted kiss that dripped love all over the place, with your stupid gentle mouth, like I was something precious, and it drove me up a wall. I drank for a week straight, after that.”

Ezra blinked, mouth hanging just slightly open. Then he snorted. And laughed.

“Be like that, laugh at me while I’m baring my heart to you—“

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry, dear,” he tried to calm down, snorting. “I’m sorry, I’m just— Of all things, _that_?! Crowley, you are so— _So_— I love you, you idiot.”

He kept laughing. And then Crowley huffed, and snorted, and joined in. They laughed and laughed, as if they couldn’t stop, hands running along each other’s cheeks and necks, fingers sinking into soft hair, noses bumping.

“You keep saying it, I’m not saying it enough—“ Crowley managed to huff between laughter. “I love you, Ezra. I love you s-so much.”

Another huffy laugh, caressing Crowley’s lips. Their noses were touching, as they slowly quieted, eyes meeting and never letting go. Slowly, as if he was afraid of scaring him off, Crowley turned to face Ezra a bit more, a hand pinned near Ezra’s thigh as he leaned in. Ezra leaned away, just a bit, back pressed against the wall.

“…No?” Crowley murmured, trying to hold back the dejected tone that slipped in anyway. Ezra huffed.

“I _do_ want to, but dear… You kind of stink of wine.”

“Oh. I guess I’d been drinking almost non-stop for months, huh,” he murmured, momentarily taking the palm that was sitting snug and warm on Ezra’s cheek away. “I’m going to be cheating a bit. Don’t freak out.”

He snapped his fingers, and whatever residue of alcohol was in his body went, leaving no unpleasant smells behind. He also went on and refreshed his clothing a bit, turned his own hair as soft as if he just got out of the shower.

Ezra’s eyes went huge. “Huh— That was— Alright. You will tell me whatever it is, that you can do—”

“Huh-huh,” Crowley replied in a murmur, already leaning back in.

“In— Later, I guess—“ Ezra continued, voice lowering considerably. Their lips brushed, as he spoke, and he closed his eyes with a soft little moan.

“Shit, that was hot—“ Crowley muttered, causing their mouth to brush again. “It’s almost as if— The moment before the actual kiss it’s even better than the kiss itself—“

Ezra groaned, eyes still closed. “If you don’t kiss me right now, I’ll punch you again.”

Crowley chuckled, and then complied.

There were no fireworks, or angelic choruses. (Perish the thought!)

They were in a dingy, glorified broom closet, with a group of meddlers that was, no doubt, attempting to eavesdrop every now and then, just to make sure they weren’t killing each other. It was hardly romantic.

It didn’t matter. They loved one another. And as they melted into that kiss, everything else stopped existing.

—

“…I’m— Sorry, for punching you at the air-base, my dear.”

“Eh. You did warn me. Fair’s fair.”

—

They had so much to talk about, still. There was so much baggage to unpack that the mere idea of even starting to do so was taxing, to put it mildly.

But they would, at some point. Because a big step had been taken, and they weren’t going to let it go to waste.

The got out the cellar that really wasn’t a cellar hand in hand, cheeks vaguely pink, like two high-schoolers being all sappy and shy about their first relationship. Ezra had mildly reprimanded Crowley, when he opened the door with a snap of his fingers.

“…You could’ve done that from the start?” he asked, squinting.

“Yeah but— Wasn’t really thinking about it. My brain sort of broke and went into a ‘EzraEzraEzra’ loop. Embarrassing.”

A giggle and a push that said ‘_Oh, you!_’ followed.

Guilty expressions were had by the group of meddlers, rapidly followed by unholy smugness at the sight of their connected hands.

“You can thank me at the wedding,” Anathema said, sipping a glass of water with her pinky sticking up. The kids giggled, as a vaguely concerned Newt pretended to have seen nothing by energetically petting Dog.

More words were exchanged, in the days to follow. A lot of them very shocked.

“You bargained for my safety with Death?!” Crowley asked, strangled, when they went into that particular topic, and Ezra explained in more details what he had done to drag Crowley out the very in-between-a-rock-and-a-hard-place situation he landed himself in.

“I had to. I doubt I’ve been able to fool either side for long, especially considering I had to bludgeon an Archangel—“

“You did _what_?!”

“Don’t look so happy about it!”

“You— Ezra, you crazy, brilliant _bastard_. I love you.”

“I love you, too. So, where was I— Right, I knew I couldn’t fool them for long, and that they’d come back for you, at some point. I needed something long term, you know?”

“So you bargained. With Death. _Jesus fucking Christ_—“

More interventions were had by the meddlesome squad.

“You guys need therapy. I’m serious.”

“Huh, dear— It would be kind of difficult to explain to a therapist our— _Everything_, wouldn’t it?”

“I can’t— _And I cannot stress this enough_— Imagine two people _more_ in need of therapy than a couple of immortal idiots that have been around since the creation of humanity. I love you, but you guys are a fucking mess.”

“…She’s got a point.”

“But— We’d blow their mind! Which therapist could possibly deal with that?”

“Hello, professional descendant here, remember? My family is full of weirdos. I’ve got contacts. I’ll find the right doc for you— But you have to promise me you’ll take this seriously.”

“…Alright. We will.”

There was an attempt at haggling an inanimate object, under Ezra’s slightly concerned gaze.

“…You did tell me the Bentley wouldn’t let you in— I thought you meant in a metaphorical sense? Not _literally_.“

“See? She’s a traitor! A traitor, I say!”

“…Can I try?”

“Knock yourself out, love.”

_Click_.

“…”

“…_You_— That’s it. I’m getting you _scrapped_! I’m going to buy a _Porsche_!”

And then there were moments of discovery. One might have, one rainy, chilly night, heard an unholy shriek, when walking by a certain apartment in Soho, and then heard:

“CROWLEY! THERE’S A GIANT SNAKE IN OUR BEDROOM!”

“Oh— Oh, right, I hadn’t shown you yet, hadn’t I? _I’m _the snake, love.”

That was followed by another unholy shriek and the sound of glass breaking. One might also have spotted an enormous snake slithering by with a pout, a couple of minutes later.

Or one could visit a certain bookshop, and find the owner too busy snogging his boyfriend behind a shelf, until they got kind of carried away with the whole thing and books crashed on the floor when wings were spread.

“Crowley!”

“Huh— That hasn’t happened in _at least_ four thousand years. See what you do to me, love?”

“You have _wings_!”

“Oh, yeah— Ta-daa!”

“…_Soft_.”

“Ngk— Don’t touch there. We are in _public_—“

There were many, many moments. And they walked them together.

(The only one they did not walk side by side was when one of them was waiting already, almost trembling with excitement, while the other sauntered down the aisle, as some confused guests wondered when did _uncle_ Ezra started to swing that way. But they did not ponder about it too much. Times were a’ changing, and all that.)

They had no choice, maybe, or the circumstances forced them to stick with one another. Choices or circumstances? What really pushed them together like two boats adrift, that somehow found each other in the middle of the ocean? They might never find an answer. But since they loved one another so very much… Did it really matter?

If you asked them, they’d laugh a bit, and share a secret and fond look. And there would be no answer. Maybe they’d share a quick peck, as if making a point, fingers entwining.

Two immortal souls, firmly tied to one another. They knew that they loved each other. That was all that mattered to them.

It’s all that should matter to any of us, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this adventure is over! It was such fun writing this fic and I hope you all had fun reading too : D
> 
> If you want to check out more of my stuff you should know where to click, by now. So, toodles!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NohaVale) and [Pillowfort!](https://www.pillowfort.io/NohaIjiachi)


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